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Artist: Kanye West f/ Rick Ross
Album:  My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
Song:   Devil in a New Dress (Album Version)
Typed by:

[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


[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*]