text: Got it going on, what, what?
  Uh, what, what?
  They got it going on, what, what?
  Yeah, uh, what, what? 
  Im momma, Miss Ivana
  Usually rock the Prada, sometimes Gabbana
  Youre 9-0, my guns is Valentino
  MAC wavin, Queen Bitch engraved in 
  And my peeps, it increased then ceased
  Then sink slow, flows incredible, video
  Peep the little petite, stand about 5 feet 0 inches 
  Off springs to clenches 
  Me, I suspensions
  Quick to bring your body agony like pinches
  Yes, yes, what? 
  The T.V.s in the Range, half a milli in the game
  Nigga, we too dutty for that, bring your ass on back
  Matter fact, stay where you at, you might fuck my frow up
  Fuck my flow up , hustle til I throw up
  No more, high beam slums, and iced out baguettes
  Back to Pontiacs and 86 Acs, Cadillacs
  The 68s quick to tag plates, im straight
  Stay great, the diamonds and pearls
  Forever always, the million dollar girl 
  Street dreams are made of these
  850 IS and GS3s
  You travel the world tryna sling a ki
  Everybodys looking for something
  I got no time for fake niggas 
  You drink a little wine, but you shake, nigga
  See, my names on your lease with your bank figures
  Cause Im much more advanced than them average gold diggers
  Yeah, it figures; youre talking bout me, so what about you? 
  Man, bitches be lying too
  I push the kis, GS3s, the papes 
  Yeah, I ride crate state to state, lieutenant takes mad dimes
  From New York to Anaheim 
  While you daydream and whine
  I just keep gettin mine 
  And Im, married to this 
  Yall strategy lists and still planning weddings 
  Mafioso threatens all the bullshit
  Any type of threat, ends to pull shit 
  Thats why I got mad love for my real bitches
  Kisses and hugs, yo, one love to my thug niggas 
  Street dreams are made of these
  850 IS and GS3s
  You travel the world tryna sling a ki
  Everybodys looking for something, uh
  Right back at ya, you know the one Cleopatra
  All up in that ass, digging in your stash
  Niggas think they gon get some ass
  No money money, no licky-licky 
  Fuck your dicky-dicky and your quickie
  Gimme your loot, your MAC-11 didnt shoot
  Your game aint sweet, John Paul Pete shouldnt compare
  If you cant wed it , forget it, dont sweat it 
  I bet it, make it come smooth if you let it
  You cant stop a bitch from ballin 
  Haha, the lala, the drop-off, they be callin
  Uh, Cease-A-Leo, uh
  Street dreams are made of these
  850 IS and GS3s
  You travel the world tryna sling a ki
  Everybodys looking for something, uh