[CHORUS: ANDRÉ 3000]

Even the Sun goes down, heroes eventually die

Horoscopes often lie

And sometimes, "Y"

Nothing is for sure, nothing is for certain

Nothing lasts forever, but until they close the curtain

(Y'all know)

It's him and I: Aquemini

[VERSE 1 BIG BOI]

Now is the time to get on—like Spike Lee said, "Get on the Bus"

Go get your work and keep your beeper chirping—it's a must

Is you on that dust or corn starch? Familiar with that smack, man?

The music is like that green stuff provided to you by sack-man

Pacman, how in the f*ck you think we gon' do that, man?

Riding round Old National on eighteens without no gat, man

I'm strapped, man, and ready to bust on any n*gga like that, man

Me and my n*gga, we roll together like Batman and Robin

We prayed together through hard times, swung hard when it was fitting

But now, we tapping the brakes from all them corners that we be bending

In Volkswagens and Bonnevilles, Chevrolets and Coupe de Villes

If you ain't got no rims, n*gga, don't get no wood-grain steering wheel, for real (Real)

You can go on and chill out and still build

Let your paper stack 'stead of going into overkill

And pay your f*ckin' beeper bill, b*tch

[CHORUS]

[Verse 2: André 3000]

Twice upon a time, there was a boy who died

Lived happily ever after, but that's another chapter

Live from "home of the brave," with dirty dollars

Beauty parlors, baby ballers, bowling-ball Impalas

Street scholars, majoring in culinary arts

You know, how to work bread, cheese, and dough from scratch

But, see, the catch is you can get caught

Know what you selling, what you bought, so cut that big talk

Let's walk to the bridge—meet me halfway

Now you may see some children dead off in the pathway

It's them poor babies walking slowly to the candy lady

It's looking bad—

Need some hope like the words "maybe," "if," or "probably"

More than a hobby

When my turntables get wobbly, they don't fall

I'm sorry, y'all, I often drift—I'm talking gift

So when it comes, you never look the horse inside its grill

Of course, you know I feel like the bearer of bad news

Don't want to be it, but it's needed, so what have you?

Now, question: Is every n*gga with dreads for the cause?

Is every n*gga with golds for the fall?

Naww, so don't get caught up in appearance

It's OutKast, "Aquemini": another Black experience

[Chorus]

[Verse 3: Big Boi]

The name is Big Boi, Daddy Fat Sax, the n*gga that like them Cadillacs

I stay down with these streets 'cause these streets is where my folks at

Better know that, some say we pro-Black, but we professional

We missed a lot of church, so the music is our confessional

Get off the testicles and the nutsacks, you bust 'round, we bust back

G—Get back for real n*ggas that's out here tryna spit facts

You 'ear that? You can't come near that, maybe you need to quit (Quit)

Because "Aquemini" is Aquarius and Gemini running sh*t

Like this, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

[Verse 4: André 3000]

My mind warps and bends, floats the wind, count to ten

Meet the twin, André Ben', welcome to the lion's den

Original skin, many men comprehend

I extend myself, so you go out and tell a friend

Sin all depends on what you believing in

Faith is what you make it—that's the hardest sh*t since MC Ren

Alien can blend right on in with your kin

Look again, 'cause I swear, I spot one every now and then

It's happening again, wish I could tell you when

"André, this is André, y'all are just gon' have to make amends"

[chorus]