Artist: Kanye West f/ Rick Ross Album: My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy Song: Devil in a New Dress (Album Version) Typed by: jamx3k@yahoo.com [Kanye West] I love it, though I love it, though [Chorus: Kanye West] Put your hands to the constellations The way you look should be a sin, you my sensation I know I'm preaching to the congregation We love Jesus, but you done learned a lot from Satan I mean, a nigga did a lot of waiting We ain't married, but tonight I need some consummation [Verse One: Kanye West] May the Lord forgive us, may the gods be with us In that magic hour I've seen good Christians Make brash decisions - Oh, she doooooo it What happened to religion? Oh, she lose it She putting on her makeup, she casually allure Text message breakups, the casualty of tour How she gonna wake up and not love me no more? I thought I was the asshole, I guess it's rubbing off Hood phenomenon, the LeBron of rhyme Hard to be humble when you're stunting on a JumboTron I'm looking at her like, this what you really wanted, huh? Why we arguing anyway? Oh, I forgot, it's summertime [Chorus] [Verse Two: Kanye West] When the sun go down, it's the magic hour (the magic hour) And out of all the colors that fill up the skies You got green on your mind, I can see it in your eyes Why you standing there with your face screwed up? Don't leave while you're hot, that's how Mase screwed up Throwing shit around, our whole place screwed up Maybe I should call Mase and he could pray for us I hit the Jamaican spot, at the bar, took a seat I ordered the jerk, she said, “You are what you eat” You see, I always loved the sense of humor But tonight, you should've seen how quiet the room was The Lyor Cohen of Dior homme That's Dior homme, not Dior, homie The crib's Scarface, could it be more Tony? You love me for me, could you me more phony? Put your hands to the constellations The way you look should be a sin, you my sensation [Kanye ad-libbing] Haven't said a word Haven't said a word to me this evening Cat got your tongue? [*Instrumental Break until 4:02] [Verse Three: Rick Ross] Looking at my bitch, I bet she give your ass a bone Looking at my wrist, it'll turn your ass to stone Stretch limouisnes, sipping Rozay all along Double-headed monster with a mind of it's on Cherry red chariot, success is just my character All black tux, nigga, shoes lavender I never needed acceptance from you outsiders Had ciphers with Yeezy before his mouth wired Before his jaw shattered climbing up the lord's ladder We still speeding, running signs like they don't matter Hater talk, he never made me mad Remember that when I'm in my favorite paper tag There for, G-4s at the clear port When it come to tools, fool, I'm a Pep-Boy When it came to dope, I was quick to export Never tired of balling, so it's on to the next sport New Mercedes Sedan, the Lex sport So many cars PMV though it was mail fraud Different traps I was getting mail from Pope County, Jacksonville, Wade, Melbourne Whole clique's appetites had tapeworms Spinning Teddy Pendergrass vinyl as my jay burns I shed a tear before the night's over God bless the man I put this ice over Geting 2Pac money, twice over Still a real nigga, red Coogi sweater, dice roller I'm making love to the Angel of Death Catching feelings, never stumble retracing my steps [*Guitar solo until end*]