More songs by Outkast
Description
Associated Performer: Outkast feat. Goodie Mob
Associated Performer: Outkast
Associated Performer: Goodie Mob
Lyricist, Composer: Antwan Patton
Composer, Lyricist: David Sheats
Lyricist, Composer: Willie Knighton
Composer, Lyricist: André Benjamin
Composer, Lyricist: Cameron Gipp
Producer: Earthtone III
Lyrics and translation
Original
Yeah, yeah, yo. Keep, keep it slow-po, hang out the side with no rope.
Sit in the tub, flick the remote with soap. Pull up, jump out, then I strut for 'em.
And if anybody got problems I'ma cut for 'em.
In this atmosphere that you can disappear, smoke thick, shells bail like bail bonds looking for hoes.
Drag my ass down the ave like a cab. Starin' at ass, leave your shirt open like an Arab.
Making money off these breakdown slabs. We got this on, get your own.
Better move on before your four get split. You won't forget the DL put it down to get down or sit down.
Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly.
Pardon me if I shake your soul.
I got it. I got it, shorty. Side ball.
I tackle my problems, never run from my foes.
Dip on, face mask, hit the juke button then leave a sucker froze.
Like he just tried to shove a whole key up in his nose. On all fours, you hit 'em high, hit 'em low.
But it's dope, your heart gon' bust out here 'cause we comin' full speed.
We geekin' till you lift you up off of your feet. At the lip of the glass, sippin' victory.
Clean cut but I stay dirty. Uh, you play fair, I cheat.
I spike this pig in your face like you never stop eating pork or beef. And it's easy to stack a re-up.
Tenaces on his grill, eye all broke. Hall of Famer with no fears, blood sweat and tears.
Oh, so yeah.
Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly.
Pardon me if I shake your soul.
-Ooh, yeah. -The rich boy got it bad 'cause he is rich.
The poor boy got a bag 'cause he is poor.
The bad boy got it bad 'cause he want more. The good girl got it good 'cause she got game.
And runs it on undeveloped fellas considered lame.
Same like mechanics do it, baby who need her Buick repaired? Don't have no knowledge of what a brake shoe is.
Make woo with, turn to nickel, squirm and tickle. We wiggle, numb your emotions like a dill pickle.
In autumn, fall into the bottom of black holes.
Make a left on nothingness 'cause that's where I'm at. Cold as summer, I got your number, you got my number.
Let's add 'em, see what we come with, maybe we can stumble.
Like, uh, babies and moms and retarded ones. Uh, dolphins and whales are the smartest ones.
So nothing you can do can be new up under the sun.
Dependin' what star you live under, you can be the -one on. . .
-Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly.
Pardon me if I shake your soul.
Yeah.
Ain't no Sunday school this morning, they say somebody blowed up the church.
What's even worse than that, I heard Pastor David, he got hurt.
By the perks, portrayers demonstrated the violence and hatred.
It's finna be 2001, the Rojo next all racist. Bastards actin' savage on the Sabbath, must be demons. Errand boys for
Satan, defeated when I repeat it.
Rebuked thee, rebuked thee, the look in they eye was spooky. But now I find myself in the park sittin' in my hooptie. Like a movie,
I was daydreamin' and everything seemed real.
But now I'm at Moody Park and we got some chicken on the grill. Free the beer, nigga chill, roll a joint, pop a pill.
Come and feel how we cut as we do it like this here on. . .
On any given Sunday.
Oh, a legend will be born.
Oh, tradition will be broken.
Oh, victory is yours. On any given
Sunday.
Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly.
Pardon me if I shake your soul.
Ooh, yeah.
English translation
Yeah, yeah, yo. Keep, keep it slow-po, hang out the side with no rope.
Sit in the tub, flick the remote with soap. Pull up, jump out, then I strut for 'em.
And if anybody got problems I'ma cut for 'em.
In this atmosphere that you can disappear, smoke thick, shells bail like bail bonds looking for hoes.
Drag my ass down the ave like a cab. Starin' at ass, leave your shirt open like an Arab.
Making money off these breakdown slabs. We got this on, get your own.
Better move on before your four get split. You won't forget the DL put it down to get down or sit down.
Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly.
Pardon me if I shake your soul.
I got it. I got it, shorty. Side ball.
I tackle my problems, never run from my foes.
Dip on, face mask, hit the juke button then leave a sucker froze.
Like he just tried to shove a whole key up in his nose. On all fours, you hit 'em high, hit 'em low.
But it's dope, your heart gon' bust out here 'cause we comin' full speed.
We geekin' till you lift you up off of your feet. At the lip of the glass, sippin' victory.
Clean cut but I stay dirty. Uh, you play fair, I cheat.
I spike this pig in your face like you never stop eating pork or beef. And it's easy to stack a re-up.
Tenaces on his grill, eye all broke. Hall of Famer with no fears, blood sweat and tears.
Oh, so yeah.
Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly.
Pardon me if I shake your soul.
-Ooh, yeah. -The rich boy got it bad 'cause he is rich.
The poor boy got a bag 'cause he is poor.
The bad boy got it bad 'cause he want more. The good girl got it good 'cause she got game.
And runs it on undeveloped fellas considered lame.
Same like mechanics do it, baby who need her Buick repaired? Don't have no knowledge of what a brake shoe is.
Make woo with, turn to nickel, squirm and tickle. We wiggle, numb your emotions like a dill pickle.
In autumn, fall into the bottom of black holes.
Make a left on nothingness 'cause that's where I'm at. Cold as summer, I got your number, you got my number.
Let's add 'em, see what we come with, maybe we can stumble.
Like, uh, babies and moms and retarded ones. Uh, dolphins and whales are the smartest ones.
So nothing you can do can be new up under the sun.
Dependin' what star you live under, you can be the -one on. . .
-Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly.
Pardon me if I shake your soul.
Yeah.
Ain't no Sunday school this morning, they say somebody blowed up the church.
What's even worse than that, I heard Pastor David, he got hurt.
By the perks, portrayers demonstrated the violence and hatred.
It's finna be 2001, the Rojo next all racist. Bastards actin' savage on the Sabbath, must be demons. Errand boys for
Satan, defeated when I repeat it.
Rebuked thee, rebuked thee, the look in they eye was spooky. But now I find myself in the park sittin' in my hooptie. Like a movie,
I was daydreamin' and everything seemed real.
But now I'm at Moody Park and we got some chicken on the grill. Free the beer, nigga chill, roll a joint, pop a pill.
Come and feel how we cut as we do it like this here on. . .
On any given Sunday.
Oh, a legend will be born.
Oh, tradition will be broken.
Oh, victory is yours. On any given
Sunday.
Sunday mornin' makes me feel so godly.
Pardon me if I shake your soul.
Ooh, yeah.