Tomb of the Boom

[Intro: Big Boi]
Speakerboxxx
Yo
Just so you all know what time it is, it's your homeboy
Straight from the A-T
I ain't even gon' say the motherfuckin' 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
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
Option 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, rappin' 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 lyin', should be castrated
Lorena Bobbitt, maybe? Yah

[Chorus: Big Boi]
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 (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 givin' hoes backshots
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 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 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"
After-school tutor, Roto-Rooter, addicted to Follies
Light-brown collars, stay soft, row crows
Swimmin' in the fallopian of an Ethiopian
Talkin' 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 with me now, yo

[Chorus: Big Boi]
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

[Verse 4: Supa Nate]
I will never fall off, I haul off heavyweight (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 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, 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, beatin' through your speakerbox, yeah

[Chorus: Big Boi]
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)

[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 speakerbox (Woo)
So hear ye, get the fuck on the ground
It's just a phrase you might hear strollin' 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)
Thinkin' way back before I got mine
Puttin' bulletholes through the neighborhood stop signs
Still wild is my adrenaline (Ugh), yes, ladies and gentlemen
Dun-na-na, a hundred thou', bitch, diamonds shimmerin' (Ugh)
Catch me with a sack of 'dro, reachin' for "The Strap Below"
Or with some nasty hoes, eatin' pistachios
Y'all driving Subarus, stuck in your cubicles
I'm stuck in the air with weed crumbs under my cuticles

[Chorus: Big Boi]
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

[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 blessin' 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 spittin' damn near ten years—why the fuck would we be quittin'?
Fuck nigga