| I love it though
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| I love it though, you know
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| Uh put your hands to the constellations
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| The way you look should be a sin, you my sinsation
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| I know I’m preaching to the congregation
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| We love Jesus but you done learned a lot from Satan
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| I mean a nigga did a lot of waiting
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| We ain’t married but tonight I need some consummation
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| May the Lord forgive us
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| May the gods be with us
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| In that magic hour I seen good Christians make brash decisions
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| Oh she do it, what happened to Religion?
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| Oh she lose it
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| She putting on her make-up
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| She casually allure
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| Text message break-ups, the casualty of tour
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| How she gon' wake up and not love me no more
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| I thought I was the asshole, I guess it’s rubbing off
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| Hood phenomenon, the Lebron of rhyme
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| Hard to be humble when you stunting on a Jumbotron
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| I’m looking at her like «this what you really wanted, huh?»
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| Why we argue anyway, oh I forgot it’s summertime
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| Put your hands to the constellations
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| The way you look should be a sin, you my sinsation
|
| I know I’m preaching to the congregation
|
| We love Jesus but she done learned a lot from Satan (Satan, Satan, Satan)
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| I mean a nigga did a lot of waiting
|
| We ain’t married but tonight I need some consummation
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| When the sun go down it’s the magic hour
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| The magic hour
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| And outta all the colours that’ll fill up the skies
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| You got green on your mind
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| I can see it in your eyes
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| Why you standing there with your face screwed up?
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| Don’t leave while you’re hot that’s how Mase screwed up
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| Throwing shit around, the whole place screwed up
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| Maybe I should call Mase so he could pray for us
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| I hit the Jamaican spot, at the bar, take a seat
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| I ordered the jerk, she said, «You are what you eat.»
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| You see I always loved that sense of humour
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| But tonight you should have seen how quiet the room was
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| The Lyor Cohen or Dior Homme
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| That’s «Dior Homme"not «Dior, homie»
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| The crib Scarface, could it be more Tony?
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| You love me for me could you be more phony?
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| Put your hands to the constellations
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| The way you look should be a sin, you my sinsation
|
| Haven’t said a word,
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| Haven’t said a word to me this evening
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| Cat got your tongue?
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| Lookin' at my bitch I bet she give your ass a bone
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| Lookin' at my wrist it’ll turn your ass to stone
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| Stretch limousine, sippin' Rosé all alone
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| Double-headed monster with a mind of his own
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| Cherry red chariot, excess is just my character
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| All black tux, nigga shoes lavender
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| I never needed acceptance from all you outsiders
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| Had cyphers with Yeezy before his mouth wired
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| Before his jaw shattered climbin' up the Lord’s ladder
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| We still speedin', runnin' signs like they don’t matter
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| Uh, hater talkin' never made me mad
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| Never that, not when I’m in my favorite papertag
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| Therefore G4s at the Clearport
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| When it come to tools, fool I’m a Pep Boy
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| When it came to dope, I was quick to export
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| Never tired of ballin' so it’s on to the next sport
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| New Mercedes sedan, the Lex sport
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| So many cars DMV thought it was mail fraud
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| Different traps, I was gettin' mail from
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| Polk County, Jacksonville, rep Melbourne
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| Whole clique’s appetite had tapeworms
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| Spinnin' Teddy Pendergrass vinyl as my jay burns
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| I shed a tear before the night’s over
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| God bless the man I put this ice over
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| Gettin' 2Pac money twice over
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| Still a real nigga, red Coogi sweater, dice roller
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| I’m makin' love to the angel of death
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| Catchin' feelings, never stumble, retracin' my steps |