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Tomb Of The Boom feat. Konkret
OutKast
Popularity ยท Low
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
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Speakerboxxx
Yeah, just so y'all know what time it is
It's your homeboy, straight from the A-T
I ain't even gon' say the rest
But you know, it's Dungeon Family all day long, baby
But we finna crank it up with some fresh new
Yah, yah, yah, yah
This rap game lovely
Concrete play a part 'cause the feds want to bug me
Athletes want to be rappers, shawty, trust me
Bendin' corners in the Benz, grindin' like a bucket
Buy another blunt, I know some niggas that's up
Option a nigga off like a nigga playin' rugby
I done seen a ghetto meal, lil' buddy, trust me
Jumped European, came clean through customs
No questions, perpetrators
In the booth rappin' lame like they drug-related
It made me sick to my stomach off The Two and a Baby
You don't grind, you be lyin', should be castrated
Lorena Bobbitt, maybe?
Tomb after tomb, boom-boom after boom
Servin' up emotion once you deep inside the tomb
Embryo to newborn, you can feel me in the womb
Cool, ooh, that's cool
Alright, yeah
You see, I cock back Glocks, got more pull than slingshots
Hit G-spots, I'm givin' hoes back shots
I'm a young country boy, long socks with flip-flops
But I'll pull up on your block in the 500 Benz drop
Concrete, Aquemini, we takin' 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 speakerbox?
Fuck the cops, we makin' noise and we won't stop
Bump-bump, there goes the boom and it's gon' drop
Old school, big shoes, no socks
We keep tools, see fools, bullets will pop
They call me Mr. Ravioli, Mr. Strudel, Mr. Poke-'Em-With-the-Noodle
Mr. Cockerspaniel-In-Your-Poodle, after-school tutor
Roto-Rooter, addicted to Follies
Light brown collars, stay soft, roll crows
Swimmin' in the fallopian of an Ethiopian
Talkin' a different language, RBI fly wide
Talk to me now
'84 Hard, '84 soft with me now
Beautiful ladies, they wanna walk with me now
Talk with me now, pop pop for me now
Sell sales for me now
Fight a bitch, hit her in the eye for me now
See you when I see you, now I'm out with me now, gone
Tomb after tomb, boom-boom after boom
Servin' up emotion once you deep inside the tomb
Embryo to newborn, you can feel me in the womb
Cool, ooh, that's cool
I will never fall off, I haul off heavy weight
Fuck with me, dawg, I'll chop you up like Norman Bates
I'm true to this shit, I ain't new to this shit
Over a million sold on strictly weed, bricks
Flammable like gasoline when I'm lit up
I prefer my liquor dark and a mean white white
It's over for you cappin' ass rappers, get out the game
You can fool the record labels, but not the streets, mane
I just tell it how I see it, see it, facts is facts
The first verse I ever wrote, I got a platinum plaque
I've been to hell and back, soโ soโ so give me my props
Concrete, Big Boi, beatin' through your speakerbox, yeah
Tomb after tomb, boom-boom after boom
Servin' up emotion once you deep inside the tomb
Embryo to newborn, you can feel me in the womb
Cool, ooh, that's cool
Ha, Ludacris, yeah, I keep a Glock, case you like to leak a lot
Meanwhile, crankin' the volume knob up on my speakerbox
So hear ye, get the fuck on the ground
It's just a phrase you might hear strollin' through the A-Town
They don't believe that we'll stab 'em in the abdomen
From College Park, Georgia to College Park, Maryland
So put your fists up, boy, you wanna romp?
You can Bankhead Bounce or get Eastside Stomped
Thinkin' way back before I got mine
Puttin' bullet holes through the neighborhood stop sign
Still wild is my adrenaline, yes, ladies and gentlemen
Dun-na-na, a hundred thou' diamonds shimmerin'
Catch me with a sack of 'dro, reachin' for the strap below
Or with some nasty hoes eatin' pistachios
Y'all drivin' Subarus, stuck in your cubicles
I'm stuck in the air with weed crumbs under my cuticles
Tomb after tomb, boom-boom after boom
Servin' up emotion once you deep inside the tomb
Embryo to newborn, you can feel me in the womb
Cool, ooh, that's cool
Fourth and goal
Should I take the three-point field
Goal for the score or should I roll?
Or should I take the ball up the middle, the gut, the what? The hole
Cranium overload, overthrow, now we got seven more
Points on the board, fo' sho'
B-I-G B-O-I, me, oh my, I think he's blessin' me
Excelling in harmonious melody, boy, we got the recipe
Like ragout, it's in there, givin' you some of the best of me
Player, pimp, gangster, 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 spittin' damn near ten years, why the fuck would we be quittin'?
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