Outkast – B.O.B: Lyrics and Music Video

B.O.B Lyrics

One, two
One, two, three, yeah!

Inslumnational, underground
Thunder pounds when i stomp the ground (whoo!)
Like a million elephants or silverback orangutan
You can’t stop the train
Who want some don’t come unprepared
I’ll be there, but when i leave there
Bet i’ll 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
Hit 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 wanna be as 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 & hammer
Soul-gold grill and a baby mama
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, things 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 more, 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!
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!

Uno, dos, tres, it’s on
Did you ever think a pimp rock a microphone?
Like that there boy and will 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, ’bout five niggas deep
75 mcs 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 throwed 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-year—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 business for yourself, boy, set some goals
Make a fat diamond out of dusty coal
Record number four, but we on a roll
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
Like a three-piece fish before i cut your daughter
Yo quiero taco bell, then i hit the border
Pitty-pat rappers trying to get to five
I’m a microphone fiend tryin’ to stay alive
When you come to atl, 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!
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!

Bombs over baghdad!
Bombs over baghdad!
Bombs over baghdad!
Bombs over baghdad!

Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
Bob your head, rag-top
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
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival
Power music, electric revival