OutKast "Bombs Over Baghdad" |
(Dre) 1, 2... 1, 2, 3; yeah! Inslumnational, underground Thunder pounds when I stomp the ground (Woo!) Like a million elephants and silver back orangutangs You can't stop a train Who want some? Don't come un-pre-pared I'll be there, but when I leave there Better be a household name Weather man tellin' us it ain't gon' rain So now we sittin' in a drop-top soakin' wet In a silk suit tryin' not to sweat Hittin' somersaults without the net But this'll be the year that we won't forget One-nine-nine-nine and reminded anything goes, be what you wanna be Long as you know consequences are given for livin The fence is too high to jump in jail Too low to dig, I might just touch hell Hot! Get a life now, they on sale Then I might cast you a spell, look at what came in the mail, A scale and some Arm and Hammer, solid gold grill and a baby's m`ama Black Cadillac and a pack of pampers, stack of questions with no answers Cure for cancer, cure for AIDS Make a nigga wanna stay on tour for days Get back home, thangs are wrong Well not really it was bad all along Before you left, adds up to a ball of power Thoughts at a thousand miles per hour Hello, ghetto, let your brain breathe, Believe there's always mo Owwww! Chorus: 2X (Dre) Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang (Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah! (Dre) Yeah! Ha ha yeah! Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something (Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah! (Big Boi) Uno, dos, tres, it's on Did you ever think a pimp rock a microphone Like that there boy and we still stay street Big things happen everytime we meet Like a track team, crack fiend, dyin' to geek Outkast bumpin' up and down the street Slant back, Cadillac, 'bout five niggas deep Seventy-five mc's freestylin' to the beat Cause we get crunk, stay drunk, at the club Should have bought an ounce, but you copped a dub Should have held back, but cha threw the punch 'Spose to meet your girl but cha packed a lunch No D to-the U to-the G for you Got a son on the way by the name of Bamboo Got a little baby girl four year, Jordan Never turn my back on my kids, there for them Should have hit it, quit it, rag top Before you read up, get a laptop Make a business for yourself, boy, set some goals Make a fair diamond out of dusty coals Record number four, but we on the road Hold up, slow up, stop, control Like Janet, planet Stankonias on ya Movin' like floyd comin' straight to Florida Lock all your windows then block the corridors Pullin' off my belt cause a whippins in order I like a three-piece fish before I cut your daughter Yo quiero Taco Bell, then i hit the border Pity pat rappers tryin' to get the five on my microphone name tryin' to stay alive When you come to A-T-L boy you better not hide Cause the Dungeon Family gone ride High! Chorus: 2X (Dre) Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang (Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah! (Dre) Yeah! Ha ha yeah! Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something (Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah! (Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah! Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah! Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah! Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah! (Dre) B-I-G, B-O-I An-An-Andre To the T-O-P (Dre and Big Boi) 16X Bob your head. Rag top. (1,2...1,2,3,4) (Gimme some) (Choir) 23X Power music. Electric revival. Lyric from www.lyricmania.com |