You got a like the Madonna crying tears of gold Been pumping gas at the Texaco, to road on the run Oh baby, youre on the run Oh
Im not a trick, boy, Im a for you You give me butterflies, skipping one two I know youre boy, I get the flu Im running temperatures of your love, boo
Brooklyn move my soul this my stilettos move your mouth up to my lips Come on over ghetto (He show me what you got girl) on over ghetto baby (Drop it its hot girl)
I know your lips say that you wanna, but your a no But boy your hips say that gonna when you hold me, Hold me, so fun you are too much fun
My rock star, The Willy B. crew Im feeling you boy, you me too Im clocking chicks left and just to get to you Youre out there on the grind, now come to your queen, boo.
Brooklyn move my soul this Kissing my stilettos, move mouth up to my lips Come on over ghetto (He said show me you got girl) Come on ghetto baby (Drop it its hot girl)
Brooklyn my soul like this Kissing my stilettos, move your mouth up to my on over ghetto baby (He said me what you got girl) on over ghetto baby (Drop it its hot girl)
Were a match in heaven, if theyre gonna talk let em If they dont were good together, baby just forget em hes bad, hes bad But when hes good, no better 'Cause a match made in heaven and this kind of loves forever
move my soul like this Kissing my stilettos, move your up to my lips on over ghetto baby (He show me what you got girl) on over ghetto baby (Drop it its hot girl)
Brooklyn my soul like this my stilettos, move your mouth up to my lips Come on ghetto baby (He show me what you got girl) on over ghetto baby (Drop it its hot girl)