[Intro: André 3000]
Hello, well good evening, ladies and gentlemen
What we like to do right here—well first of all, let me let you know who I am
Well, I go by the name of André 3000, right?
And we come from a little place called like Stankonia, Georgia, right?
You know, right now everybody wants to be from space
And like want to be from the country and everything like that
You know, like, really, like, the South
It's like cool to be from the South right about now
Girls, listen up
[Verse 1: André 3000]
Torn between Saturday night and early Sunday morn'
I don't know, I'm somewhere stuck in between-tween
I'm out here knowin' hip-hop is dead
The average nigga on my corner yellin'
"What the fuck you mean-mean?"
See, we ain't even seen the mountaintop
Counterclockwise goes the neighborhood
Hand-me-downs and canned goods
Won't cut the Grey Poupon
We got to make you run, back to the drawing board
Can't afford to lose, y'all make me yawn
1/1/91... my teacher sees potential in me, said, "Sit down, son"
And let me tell you like I heard it when I felt deserted
It wasn't no other way to word it, got my feelings murdered
By the bullet of bad, the singer of sad
Songs to make you long for your mom and your dad
Plaid clash with polka dots, I hope you ain't mad
Back up, little mama, I'm about to react
Hello, well good evening, ladies and gentlemen
What we like to do right here—well first of all, let me let you know who I am
Well, I go by the name of André 3000, right?
And we come from a little place called like Stankonia, Georgia, right?
You know, right now everybody wants to be from space
And like want to be from the country and everything like that
You know, like, really, like, the South
It's like cool to be from the South right about now
Girls, listen up
[Verse 1: André 3000]
Torn between Saturday night and early Sunday morn'
I don't know, I'm somewhere stuck in between-tween
I'm out here knowin' hip-hop is dead
The average nigga on my corner yellin'
"What the fuck you mean-mean?"
See, we ain't even seen the mountaintop
Counterclockwise goes the neighborhood
Hand-me-downs and canned goods
Won't cut the Grey Poupon
We got to make you run, back to the drawing board
Can't afford to lose, y'all make me yawn
1/1/91... my teacher sees potential in me, said, "Sit down, son"
And let me tell you like I heard it when I felt deserted
It wasn't no other way to word it, got my feelings murdered
By the bullet of bad, the singer of sad
Songs to make you long for your mom and your dad
Plaid clash with polka dots, I hope you ain't mad
Back up, little mama, I'm about to react
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