[Kanye West:]
I love it, though
I love it, though, you know?
Put your hands to the constellations
The way you look should be a sin, you my sensation
I know I'm preachin' to the congregation
We love Jesus, but you done learned a lot from Satan
I mean, a nigga did a lot of waitin'
We ain't married, but tonight I need some consummation
May the Lord forgive us, may the gods be with us
In that magic hour, I seen good Christians
Make rash decisions, oh, she do it
What happened to religion? Oh, she lose it
She puttin' on her makeup, she casually allure
Text message breakups, the casualty of tour
How she gon' wake up and not love me no more?
I thought I was the asshole, I guess it's rubbin' off
Hood phenomenon, the LeBron of rhyme
Hard to be humble when you're stuntin' on a Jumbotron
I'm lookin' at her like, this what you really wanted, huh?
Why we arguin' anyway? Oh, I forgot, it's summertime
Put your hands to the constellations
The way you look should be a sin, you my sensation
I know I'm preachin' to the congregation
We love Jesus, but she done learned a lot from Satan
(Satan, Satan, Satan)
I mean, a nigga did a lot of waitin'
We ain't married, but tonight I need some consummation
When the sun go down, it's the magic hour
(It's 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
Throwin' 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 shoulda 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 be more phony?
Put your hands to the constellations
The way you look should be a sin, you my sensation
Haven't said a word, haven't said a word to me this evenin'
Cat got your tongue?
[Rick Ross:]
Lookin’ at my bitch, I bet she give your ass a bone,
Lookin’ at my wrist, it’ll turn your ass to stone.
Stretch limousine, sippin’ Rosé all alone,
Double-headed monster with a mind of his own.
Cherry red chariot, excess is just my character,
All black tux, nigga shoes lavender.
I never needed acceptance from all you, outsiders,
Had cyphers with Yeezy before his mouth wired,
Before his jaw shattered, climbin’ up the Lord’s ladder,
We still speedin’ runnin’ signs like they don’t matter.
Uh, hater talkin’ never made me mad,
Never that when I’m in my favorite papertag.
Therefore G4’s at the Clearport,
When it come to tools, fool, I’m a Pep Boy,
When it came to dope, I was quick to export,
Never tired of ballin’ so it’s on to the next sport.
New Mercedes sedan, the Lex sport,
So many cars, DMV thought it was mail fraud.
Different traps, I was gettin’ mail from
Polk County, Jacksonville, rep Melbourne.
Whole clique’s appetite had tapeworms,
Spinnin’ Teddy Pendergrass vinyl as my J burns.
I shed a tear before the night’s over,
God bless the man I put this ice over,
Gettin’ 2Pac money twice over,
Still a real nigga, red Coogi sweater, dice roller.
I’m makin’ love to the angel of death,
Catchin’ feelin’s never stumble, retracin’ my steps.
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