OutKast — Tomb of the Boom

[Intro: Big Boi] Speakerboxxx Yo (Yo) Just so you all know what time it is, it's your homeboy Straight from the A-T Tch— I ain't even goin say the motherfucking rest But you know It's Dungeon Family all day long, baby We finna break it off with some fresh, new shit Yah, yah, yah, yah [Verse 1: Black Owned C Bone] This rap game lovely (Okay) Konkrete play a part 'cause the Feds want to bug me (*Siren*) Athletes want to be rappers, shawty, trust me Bending corners in the Benz, riding like a bucket (Fire another) Nigga, fuck it I know some hoes slutty I auctioned a bitch off like a nigga playin rugby I done seen a ghetto meal, little buddy, trust me Jump European, came clean through customs (Uh-huh) No questions (Yup) Perpetrators In the booth, rapping lame, like they drug-related (What?) It made me sick to my stomach, lost a two-and-a-baby You don't grind, you be lying, should be castrated Lorena Bobbitt, maybe? Yah [Hook: Big Boi] Tomb after tomb, boom-boom after boom Serving up emotion once you deep inside the tomb Embryo to newborn, you can feel me in the womb (Woo) Cool, ooh, that's cool (Alright, yeah) [Verse 2: Lil' Brotha & Big Gipp] You see, I cock back Glocks, got more pull than slingshots Hit G-spots, I'm giving hoes back-shots I'm a young country boy, long socks with flip-flops But I pull up on your block in the 500 Benz drop Konkrete, Aquemini, we taking this here to the top Bust like balloons—who gives a damn if it goes pop? You say it's hot? Well, let me turn it up another notch To my real niggas, won't you pump this out your Speakerboxxx? (Your Speakerboxxx) Fuck the cops—we making noise, and we won't stop "Bump, bump"—there goes the boom and it's gon' drop Old school, big shoes, nigga, no socks (Yeah) We keep tools, see fools, bullets will flock [Verse 3: Big Gipp] They call me "Mr. Ravioli," "Mr. Streudel" "Mr. Poke 'Em with the Noodle" "Mr. Cockerspaniel in your Poodle" (*Arf! Arf! Arf!*) After-school tutor, Roto-Rooter, addicted to Follies Light-brown collars, stay soft, row crows [?] Swimming in the fallopian of an Ethiopian Talking a different language, RBI fly wide [?] Talk to me now Eighty-four hard, eighty-four soft with me now Beautiful ladies, they want to walk with me now, talk with me now Pussy-pop for me now, sell cock for me now Fight a bitch, hit her in the eye for me now See you when I see you—now, I'm out wit me now, yo [Hook: Big Boi] Tomb after tomb, boom-boom after boom Serving up emotion once you deep inside the tomb Embryo to newborn, you can feel me in the womb Cool, ooh, that's cool [Verse 4: Supa Nate] I will never fall off, I haul off heavy weight (Weight) Fuck with me, dog; I chop you up like Norman Bates (Bates) I'm true to this shit, I ain't new to this shit Over a million sold on strictly weed, bricks (Bricks) Flame-able like gasoline when I'm lit up I prefer my liquor dark and a mean white slut (Slut) It's over for you capping-ass rappers—get out the game You can fool the record labels, but not the streets, man I just tell it how I see it, nigga: Facts is facts The first verse I ever wrote, I got a Platinum plaque I've been to hell and back, so, nigga, give me my props Konkrete, Big Boi, beating through your Speakerboxxx, yeah! [Hook: Big Boi] Tomb after tomb, boom, boom after boom Serving up emotion once you deep inside the tomb From embryo to newborn, you can feel me in the womb Cool, ooh, that's cool (Ha!) [Verse 5: Ludacris] Ludacris, yeah, I keep a Glock in case you like to leak a lot Meanwhile, crankin' the volume knob up on my Speakerboxxx (Woo) So hear ye: "Get the fuck on the ground!" It's just a phrase you might hear strolling through the A-Town (A-Town) They don't believe that, we'll stab them in the abdomen From College Park, Georgia to College Park, Maryland (That's right) So put your fist up, boy, you wanna romp? You can Bankhead Bounce or get Eastside Stomped (Woo) Thinking way back before I got mine Putting bullet-holes through the neighborhood stop signs Still wild is my adrenaline (Ugh), yes, ladies and gentlemen Dinninin! A hundred thou', bitch! Diamonds shimmerin Catch me with a sack of dro, reaching for "The Strap Below" Or with some nasty hoes, eating pistachios Y'all driving Subarus, stuck in your cubicles I'm stuck in the air with weed crumbs under my cuticles [Hook: Big Boi] Tomb after tomb, boom, boom after boom Serving up emotion once you deep inside the tomb From embryo to newborn, you can feel me in the womb Cool, ooh, that's cool [Verse 6: Big Boi] Fourth and goal: Should I take the three-point field goal for the score? Or should I roll Around and take the ball up the middle The gut—the what—the hole Cranium overload, overthrowed Now we got seven more Points on the board, fa sho B-I-G B-O-I, me, oh, my, I think He's blessing me Excelling in harmonious melody, boy we got the recipe Like Ragu, it's in there, giving you some of the best of me Playa-pimp-gangsta-poet We gon' spit it, we gon' show it to your ass "You're a champion" were my dad's last words before he passed But I know one day, we will once more cross paths They say, "Big Boi, can you pull it off without your nigga Dre?" I say, "People, stop the madness, 'cause me and Dre, we okay" OutKast: "Cell Therapy" to cell division We done split it down the middle so you can see both the visions Been spitting it damn near ten years—why the fuck would we be quitting? Fuck nigga!