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Bryson Tiller - Ten Nine Fourteen Jax Jones - Play GloRilla - Out Loud Thinking MadeinTYO - Have My Way (Prada Me Down) Lil Uzi Vert - Money Mitch Sage the Gemini - Put Me On Earl Sweatshirt - The Mint Flying Lotus - Debbie Is Depressed

Outkast - B.O.B. [Acappella] Lyrics

Yeah, inslumnational, underground
Thunder pounds when I stomp the ground (woo)
Like a million elephants or silverback orangutans
You can't stop a train
Who want some? Don't come unprepared
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
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 whatchu 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 & Hammer
Soul-gold grill and a baby mama
Black Cadillac and a pack of Pampers
Stack of question 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 thousands miles per hour
Hello, ghetto, let your brain breathe
Believe there's always mo', ow

Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad (yeah, yeah)
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something
Bombs over Baghdad (yeah, uh)
Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad, yeah (ha, ha, ha)
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 Boi and will still stay street
Big things happen every time we meet
Like a track team, crack fiend, dyin' to geek
Outkast bumpin' up and down the street
Slam back, Cadillac, 'bout five nigga deep
Seventy-five emcee's freestylin' to the beat
'Cause we get krunk, stay drunk, at the club
Should have bought an ounce, but you copped a dub
Should have held back, but you throwed the punch
'Spose 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 turn my back on my kids for them
Should have 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 coals
Record number four, but we on a roll
Hold up, slow up, stop, control
Like Janet, Planet, Stankonia's on ya
Movin' 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 tryin' to get the five
I'm a microphone fiend tryin' to stay alive
When you come to ATL, boy, you betta 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 (uh, yeah)
Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang
Bombs over Baghdad (y'all heard me, 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
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Published By: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Written By: David Sheats, Andre Benjamin, Antwan Patton