No, really, we dare you. We double dog dare you, nay, we triple Daddy Fat Sax you. With the bass pounding, it’s easy to disguise the fact that you’re mumbling your way through Big Boi’s verse — without it, however, when all you’re hearing of “B.O.B” is “a scale and some Arm and Hammer, soul gold grill and a baby mama/Black Cadillac and a pack of pampers/Stack of question with no answers,” well, let’s just say I’ve never felt more white.
Thoughts at a thousands miles per hour, and they’re hard to keep up with.
I want more like this!
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