Lil’ Kim, The Notorious B.I.G. - Street Dreams lyrics

Got it going on, what, what? Uh, what, what?
They got it going on, what, what?
Yeah, uh,  what,  what? (Uh)

I'm momma,  Miss Ivana
Usually rock the Prada, sometimes Gabbana
You're 9-0, my guns is Valentino
MAC wavin', "Queen Bitch" engraved in (What?)
And my peeps, it increased then ceased
Then sink slow, flows incredible, video
Peep the little petite
Stand about 5 feet 0 inches (What?)
Off springs to clenches (Woo)
Me, I suspensions
Quick to bring your body agony like pinches
Yes, yes, what? (What?)
The TV'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
(Woo) , hustle 'til I throw up
No more, high beam slums
And iced out baguettes
Back to Pontiacs and '86 Acs, Cadillacs
The '68's quick to tag plates, i'm straight
Stay great, the diamonds and pearls
Forever always, the million dollar girl (Uh)

Street dreams are made of these
850 IS and GS3s
You travel the world tryna sling a ki
Everybody's looking for something

I got no time for fake niggas
(Uh, what? That's right)
You drink a little wine, but you shake, nigga
See, my name's on your lease
With your bank figures
'Cause I'm much more advanced than
Them average gold diggers
Yeah, it figures you're talking 'bout me
So what about you? (Uh)
Man, bitches be lying too
I push the ki's, GS3s, the papes (Woo)
Yeah, I ride crate state to state
Lieutenant takes mad dimes
From New York to Anaheim (Uh, uh huh)
While you daydream and whine
I just keep gettin' mine (Gettin' mine)
And I'm, married to this (Woo)
Y'all strategy lists and
Still planning weddings (Uh)
Mafioso threatens all the bullshit
Any type of threat, ends to pull shit (What?)
That's why I got mad love for my real bitches
Kisses and hugs, yo
One love to my thug niggas (Uh, huh)

Street dreams are made of these
850 IS and GS3s
You travel the world tryna sling a ki
Everybody's 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 (Uh)
Fuck your dicky-dicky and your quickie
Gimme your loot, your MAC-11 didn't shoot
Your game ain't sweet
John Paul Pete shouldn't compare
If you can't wed it
(What?) , forget it, don't sweat it (What?)
I bet it, make it come smooth if you let it
You can't stop a bitch from ballin' (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
Everybody's looking for something, uh