B.O.B. Lyrics by OutKast

[Dre] 
1, 2.. 1, 2, 3; yeah! 
Inter-national, underground 
Thunder pounds when I stomp the ground (Woo!) 
Like a million elephants with silverback orangutans 
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, soaken' wet 
In a silk suit, tryin' not to sweat 
Hits somersaults without the net 
But this'll be the year that we won't forget 
One-Nine-Nine-Nine, and brutha anything goes, be whatchu wanna be 
Long as you know consequences, to give and for livin' defenses 
Too hot, I'm jumpin' jail 
Too low to dig, I might just touch hell 
HOT! Get a life, now they gon' sell 
Then I might catch you a spell, look at what came in the mail 
A scale and some Arm and Hammer, so grow grid and some baby m¨¢ma 
Black Cadillac and a pack of pampers, stack of question with no answers 
Cure for cancer, cure for AIDS 
Make a nigga wanna stay onto it for days 
Get back home, things are wrong 
We're not really able to spend all alone 
before he left, (?), to a ball of power 
Thousands of thousands miles per hour 
Hello, ghetto, let your brain breath, 
believe there's always more 
Ahhhhh! 

Chorus: 2X 
[Dre] Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang 
{Choir} Bombs over Baghdad! 
[Dre] Yeah! Ha ha yeah! 
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something 
{Choir} Bombs over Baghdad! 
{Dre} Yeah! Uhh-huh 

[Big Boi] 
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, 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 caught the 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 (hit it) quit it (quit it) rag (rag) top (top) 
Before you read up, get a laptop 
Make a business for yourself, boy, set some goals 
Make a fair dime out of dusty coal 
Record number four, but we on a roll 
Hold up, slow up, stop, control 
Like Janet, planets, Stankonia is only 
A movin' like floor commin' straight to Florida 
Lock all your windows then block the quarters 
Pullin' off on bell 'cause a whippins in order 
Like a three piece fist, 'fore I cut your daughter 
Yo quiero Taco Bell, then I hit the border 
Penny pap rappers tryin' to get the five 
I'm a microphone fiend tryin' to stay alive 
When you come to A-town well you better not hide 
cause the Dungeon Family gonna ride 
Hah! 

Chorus: 2X 
[Dre] Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang 
{Choir} Bombs over Baghdad! 
[Dre] Yeah! Ha ha yeah! 
Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something 
{Choir} Bombs over Baghdad! 
{Dre} Yeah! Uhh-huh 

{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]: 15X 
Bob your head. Rag top. 

(1, 2.. 1, 2, 3, 4) (Gimme some) 

{Choir}: 23X 
Bible music. Electric revival.