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[Andre 3000]
1, 2.. 1, 2, 3; yeah!
Inslumnational, underground
Thunder pounds when I stomp the ground
Like a million elephants and 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 what you 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 and 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’, OWWWW!

[Hook] (2x)
[Dre] Don’t pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang
[Choir] Bombs over Baghdad!
[Dre] Don’t even bang unless you plan to hit something
[Choir] Bombs over Baghdad!

[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 bumping up and down the street

Slantback, Cadillac, ’bout 5 niggas deep
75 MC’s freestyling 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 a 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 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
, plan it, Stankonia’s on ya
Moving like Floyd, coming straight to Florida
Lock all your windows then block the corridors
Pulling off a belt cause a whipping’s in order
Like a three-piece just ‘fore I cut your daughter
Yo quiero Taco Bell, then I hit the border

Pitty pat rappers trying to get to 5
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,