| Song | Devil In A New Dress |
| Artist | Kanye West |
| Album | Devil In A New Dress |
| I love it though | |
| I love it though | |
| You know | |
| Put your hands to the constellations | |
| They 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 | |
| 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 God's be with us | |
| And that magic hour I seen good Christians make rash decisions | |
| Oh she do it, what happened to religion? | |
| Oh she lose it, she putting on her make up | |
| She casually allure, text message break up, the casualty of tour | |
| How she gon' wake up and not love me no more | |
| I thought I was the ass hole, I guess it's rubbin' off | |
| Hood phenomenon, the Lebron of rhyme | |
| Hard to be humble when you stuntin' on a Jumbotron | |
| I'm lookin' at her like, "This what you really want it, huh?" | |
| What we argue anyway, oh, I forgot it's summertime | |
| Put your hands to the constellations | |
| They 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, the magic hour | |
| And outta all the colors that are still up the skies | |
| You got green on your mind, I can see it in your eyes | |
| Why you standin' there with your face screwed up? | |
| Don't leave while you're hot, that's how Mase screwed up | |
| Throwin' shit around, the whole place screwed up | |
| Maybe I should call Mase so he could pray for us | |
| I hit the Jamaican spot at the bar, take a seat | |
| I ordered you jerk, she said, "You are what you eat" | |
| You see I always loved your sense of humor | |
| But tonight you should have seen how quiet the room was | |
| The Lyor Cohen or Dior Homme | |
| That's Dior Homme not Dior homie | |
| The crib scarface couldn't be more Tony | |
| You love me for me, could you be more phony? | |
| Put your hands to the constellations | |
| They 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? | |
| 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 along | |
| 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 | |
| Hater talkin' never made me mad | |
| Never that when I'm in my favorite paper tag | |
| Therefore G4s 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, they'll export | |
| So many cars DMV though 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 jay burns | |
| I shed a tear before the nights 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' feelings never stumble retracin' my steps |
| I love it though | |
| I love it though | |
| You know | |
| Put your hands to the constellations | |
| They 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 | |
| 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 God' s be with us | |
| And that magic hour I seen good Christians make rash decisions | |
| Oh she do it, what happened to religion? | |
| Oh she lose it, she putting on her make up | |
| She casually allure, text message break up, the casualty of tour | |
| How she gon' wake up and not love me no more | |
| I thought I was the ass hole, I guess it' s rubbin' off | |
| Hood phenomenon, the Lebron of rhyme | |
| Hard to be humble when you stuntin' on a Jumbotron | |
| I' m lookin' at her like, " This what you really want it, huh?" | |
| What we argue anyway, oh, I forgot it' s summertime | |
| Put your hands to the constellations | |
| They 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, the magic hour | |
| And outta all the colors that are still up the skies | |
| You got green on your mind, I can see it in your eyes | |
| Why you standin' there with your face screwed up? | |
| Don' t leave while you' re hot, that' s how Mase screwed up | |
| Throwin' shit around, the whole place screwed up | |
| Maybe I should call Mase so he could pray for us | |
| I hit the Jamaican spot at the bar, take a seat | |
| I ordered you jerk, she said, " You are what you eat" | |
| You see I always loved your sense of humor | |
| But tonight you should have seen how quiet the room was | |
| The Lyor Cohen or Dior Homme | |
| That' s Dior Homme not Dior homie | |
| The crib scarface couldn' t be more Tony | |
| You love me for me, could you be more phony? | |
| Put your hands to the constellations | |
| They 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? | |
| 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' Ros all along | |
| Doubleheaded 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 | |
| Hater talkin' never made me mad | |
| Never that when I' m in my favorite paper tag | |
| Therefore G4s 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, they' ll export | |
| So many cars DMV though 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 jay burns | |
| I shed a tear before the nights 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' feelings never stumble retracin' my steps |