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 soakin' 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'ama

Black Cadillac and a pack of pampers, stack of questions 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, adds up to a ball of power

Thousands of thousands miles per hour

Hello, ghetto, let your brain breathe,

Believe there's always more

Owwww!



Chorus: 2X

(Dre) Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to band

(Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!

(Dre) Yeah! Ha ha yeah!

Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something

(Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!





(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 everytime we meet

Like a track team, crack feind, dyin' to geek

Outkast bumpin' up and down the street

Slam back, Cadillac, 'bout five nigga deep

Seventy-five emcees 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 a 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, quit it, rag 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 comin' 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

Ha!



Chorus: 2X

(Dre) Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to band

(Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!

(Dre) Yeah! Ha ha yeah!

Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something

(Choir) Bombs Over Baghdad! Yeah!



(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) 16X

Bob your head. Rag top.



(1,2...1,2,3,4) (Gimme some)



(Choir) 23X

Bible music. Electric revival