- B.O.B.

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April 4, 2016

Lyrics

1 2, 1 2 3

Yeah, Inslumnational Underground
Thunder pounds, when I stomp the ground, wooh
Like a million elephants or silver back orang utangs
You can't stop the train, who wants some?

Don't come unprepared
I'll be there, but when I leave there
Better be a household name
The weatherman tellin' us it ain't gon' rain

So now we sittin' in a droptop, 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, 1 9 9 9

Anno Domini, anything goes
Be what you want to be, long as you know
Consequences are given for living 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 & Hammer.

Soul gold grill, and a baby mamma
Black Cadillac and a pack of pampers
Stack of questions with no answers
Cure for cancer, cure for AIDS

Make a nigga want to stay on tour for days
Get back home, thangs are wrong
Well, not really, it was bad all along
Before your 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', oww

Don't pull the thang out unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah

Don't pull the thang out unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah

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 every time we meet
Like a track team, crack fiend, dying to geek

OutKast bumpin' up and down the street
Slant back Cadillac, about five niggaz deep
Seventy-five MC's freestyling to the beat
'Cause we get crunk, stay drunk at the club

Should've bought an ounce, but you copped a dub
Should've held back, but you threw the punch
Supposed to meet your girl, but you 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 years Jordan
Never turned my back on my kids for them
Should've hit it, quit it, rag top
Before you're up, get a laptop

Make a buisiness for yourself, boy set some goals
Make a fat diamond out of dusty coals
Record number four, but we on the road
Hold up, slow up, stop, control
Like Janet, Planet Stankonia's on ya

Moving like Floyd, comin' straight to Florida
Lock all your windows, then block the corridors
Pullin' off my belt, 'cause a whipping's in order
I'd like a three-piece fish, before I cut your daughter

Yo quiero Taco Bell, then I hit the border
Piti pat rappers tryin' to get the five
I'm a microphone fiend tryin' to stay alive
When you come to A Town, boy, you better not hide
'Cause the Dungeon Family gon' ride, ha

Don't pull the thang out unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah

Don't pull the thang out unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah

Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah

Bob your head, rag top
Bob your head, rag top
Bob your head, rag top

Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival

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