Donald Wallace Added by Donald Wallace
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[Intro]
Emaj7
Uh
Uh
D#m7
I love it, though
I love it, though, you know?
[Chorus]
Uh,
Emaj7
put your hands to the constellations
The way you look should be a sin,
you my sensation
D#m7
I know I'm preachin' to the congregation
G#sus2
We love Jesus, but you done learned a lot from Satan
Emaj7 D#m7
I mean,
a nigga did a lot of waiting
We ain't married,
but tonight I need some consummation
[Verse 1]
Emaj7
May the Lord forgive us,
may the gods be with us
In that magic hour,
I seen good Christians
D#m7
Make brash decisions, oh, she do it
G#sus2
What happened to religion? Oh,
she lose it
Emaj7
She putting on her makeup,
she casually alure
Text message breakups,
the casualty of tour
D#m7
How she gon' wake up and not love me no more?
I thought I was the asshole,
I guess it's rubbin' off
Emaj7
Hood phenomenon,
the LeBron of rhyme
Hard to be humble when you stunting on a jumbotron
D#m7
I'm looking at her like, "This what you really wanted,
G#sus2
huh?"
Why we argue anyway? Oh, I forgot,
it's summertime
[Chorus]
Emaj7
Put your hands to the constellations
The way you look should be a sin,
you my sensation
D#m7
I know I'm preachin' to the congregation
We love Jesus,
but she done learned a lot from Satan
Emaj7
Satan, Satan, Satan
D#m7
I mean, a nigga did a lot of waiting
G#sus2
We ain't married,
but tonight I need some consummation
[Verse 2]
Emaj7
When the sun go down, it's the magic hour,
the magic hour
D#m7
And outta all the colors that'll fill up the skies
You got green on your mind,
I can see it in your eyes
Emaj7
Why you standing there with your face screwed up?
Don't leave while you're hot,
that's how Mase screwed up
D#m7
Throwin' shit around,
the whole place screwed up
G#sus2
Maybe I should call Mase so he could pray for us
Emaj7
I hit the Jamaican spot, at the bar,
take a seat
I ordered the jerk,
she said you are what you eat
D#m7
You see,
I always loved that sense of humor
But tonight,
you should have seen how quiet the room was
Emaj7
The Lyor Cohen of Dior Homme
That's "Dior Homme," not "Dior, homie"
D#m7
The crib Scarface,
could it be more Tony?
G#sus2
You love me for me,
could you be more phony?
[Chorus]
Emaj7
Put your hands to the constellations
The way you look should be a sin,
you my sensation
D#m7
Haven't said a word,
haven't said a word to me this evening
Emaj7 D#m7 G#sus2
Cat got your tongue?
[Break]
| Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - |
| Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 |
[Solo]
| Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - |
| Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 |
| Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - |
| Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 |
[Verse 3]
Emaj7
Lookin' at my bitch,
I bet she give your ass a bone
Lookin' at my wrist,
it'll turn your ass to stone
D#m7
Stretch limousine,
sipping rose all alone
Doubleheaded monster with a mind of his own
Emaj7
Cherryred chariot,
excess is just my character
Allblack tux, nigga's shoes lavender
D#m7
I never needed acceptance from all you outsiders
G#sus2
Had cyphers with Yeezy before his mouth wired
Emaj7
Before his jaw shattered,
climbing up the Lord's ladder
We still speedin', running signs like they don't matter,
D#m7
uh
Hater talkin' never made me mad
Never that,
not when I'm in my favorite paper tag
Emaj7
Therefore, G fours at the Clearport
When it come to tools, fool,
I'm a Pep Boy
D#m7
When it came to dope,
I was quick to export
G#sus2
Never tired of ballin',
so it's on to the next sport
Emaj7
New Mercedes sedan, the Lex' sport
So many cars,
DMV thought it was mail fraud
D#m7
Different traps I was gettin' mail from
Polk County, Jacksonville,
right in Melbourne
Emaj7
Whole clique appetites had tapeworms
Spinnin' Teddy Pendergrass vinyl as my J burns
D#m7
I shed a tear before the night's over
G#sus2
God bless the man I put this ice over
Emaj7
Getting twoPac money twice over
Still a real nigga, red Coogi sweater,
diceroller
D#m7
I'm makin' love to the angel of death
Catchin' feelings, never stumble,
retracin' my steps
[Outro]
| Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - |
| Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 |
[Intro] | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | Uh Uh I love it, though I love it, though, you know? [Chorus] | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | Uh, 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 waiting We ain't married, but tonight I need some consummation [Verse 1] | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | May the Lord forgive us, may the gods be with us In that magic hour, I seen good Christians Make brash decisions, oh, she do it What happened to religion? Oh, she lose it She putting on her makeup, she casually alure 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 stunting on a jumbotron I'm looking at her like, "This what you really wanted, huh?" Why we argue anyway? Oh, I forgot, it's summertime [Chorus] | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | 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 waiting We ain't married, but tonight I need some consummation [Verse 2] | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | When the sun go down, it's the magic hour, the magic hour And outta all the colors that'll 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, 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 the jerk, she said you are what you eat You see, I always loved that sense of humor But tonight, you should have seen how quiet the room was The Lyor Cohen of Dior Homme That's "Dior Homme," not "Dior, homie" The crib Scarface, could it be more Tony? You love me for me, could you be more phony? [Chorus] | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | 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 evening Cat got your tongue? [Break] | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | [Solo] | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | [Verse 3] | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | 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, sipping rose all alone Doubleheaded monster with a mind of his own Cherryred chariot, excess is just my character Allblack tux, nigga's shoes lavender I never needed acceptance from all you outsiders Had cyphers with Yeezy before his mouth wired Before his jaw shattered, climbing up the Lord's ladder We still speedin', running signs like they don't matter, uh Hater talkin' never made me mad Never that, not when I'm in my favorite paper tag Therefore, G fours 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, right in Melbourne Whole clique appetites 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 Getting twoPac money twice over Still a real nigga, red Coogi sweater, diceroller I'm makin' love to the angel of death Catchin' feelings, never stumble, retracin' my steps [Outro] | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | - | | Emaj7 | - | D#m7 | G#sus2 |
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