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Outkast B.O.B. (Bombs Over Baghdad) Here are the song lyrics for B.O.B. (Bombs Over Baghdad) by Outkast. For more excellent Outkast lyrics, run a search! Verse One (Andre): Yeah... Intro-national, underground, Thunder bounce when I stomp the ground, (Whoo!) Like a million elephants or silverback orangutans, You cant stop my train, Who want some, Dont come unprepaired, Ill be there, but when I leave there, Better be a house on Maine, Weatherman tellin us it aint 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 thisll be the year that we wont forget, One-nine-nine-nine, And around me anything goes, Be what you wanna be, Long as you know, Consequenses are given, For livin defensless, Too hot to jump in jail, Too low to dig, I might just touch hell, (HOT!) Get a life, now they on sale, Then I might catch you a spell, Look at what came in the mail, A scale and some Arm & Hammer, Charcoal grill and a baby mamma, Black Cadillac and a pack of pampers, Stack of questions, wit 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, Fo you left assed out to a ball of power, Lost at a thousand miles per hour, Hello, ghetto, let yo brain free, Believe theres always mo... Ooowww!!! Chorus: Dont pull the thang out unless you plan to bang... Bombs over Baghdad, yeah... Dont even bang unless you plan to hit some-thang... Bombs over Baghdad, yeah... (Repeat) Verse Two (Big Boi): Uno, dos, tres, its on, Did ya ever think a pimp rock the microphone, Like that there, boi, but we still stay street, Big thangs happen every time we meet, Like a track team, craft aint dyin a geek, Outkast bumpin up and down the streets, Slam back Cadillac, bout five ...(Blank)... 75 emcees fresstylin to the beat, Cause we get crunk, stay crunk at the club, Should of bought a ounce, but ya caught the dubs, Shoulda held back, but ya throwed the punch, Posed to meet ya girl, but ya packed the lunch, No G-to-the-U-to-the-G fa you, Got a son on the way by the name of Bamboo, Got a little baby girl for a year, Jordan, Never turn my back on my kids for them, Shoulda hit it... Quit it... Rag top... Before ya reek up, get a lab... top Make a business for yourself, boy, sell some golds, Make a phat diamond outta dust and coal, Record number four, but we on a roll, Hold up, slow up, stop, control, Like Janet, planet, Stankonia, its on ya, Movin like Floyd, comin straight to Florida, Block all ya windows and block the corridors, Pullin off my belt cause the womens in order, Like three piece fish, boy I cut ya daughter, Yo quiero Taco Bell, then I hit the border, Pity pap rapper, tryin to get to five, Im a microphone fiend, tryin to stay alive, When ya come to ATL, boy, ya bet not hide, Cause the Dungeon Family gon ride... HAH! Chorus Guitar solo...
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