Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Glamour Life , by - Big Pun. Release date: 27.04.1998
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Glamour Life |
| Freeze the ice, 100 mil kid, money, money, money, mo' |
| Platinum status, (word word, yeah, what up?, what up?) |
| Stick around |
| Yo, I plan to live a life a-glamour |
| Like my man Tony Montana |
| Stand and pose in front of cameras |
| With my golden silk pajamas on |
| Smoking havanas, drinking Don P |
| Thinking beyond deeper than Gandhi, while I’m in the Diamante |
| Counting my G’s, I’m out to be a millionaire |
| Dipped in gear, flickin' hundred dollar bills in the air |
| Oh yeah, Cuban Link is into getting Benjamins |
| Cause if doesn’t make dollars, then it doesn’t make sense |
| I represent, I meant to be the king of New York |
| Went from living in tenements to a penthouse resort |
| I’m the Latino, that’ll take you to war like Al Pacino |
| Even DeNiro know not to gamble in my Casino |
| Vino on the rocks, lobster dinners with mobsters |
| I got shit locked from Prospect Ave' to the tropics |
| Sitting on top of the world like the sun |
| A living legend from the Bronx, second to none, unless it’s Pun |
| It’s the glamour life, blow up the kids and the wife |
| Players who ain’t half as nice swear to, but they sacrifice |
| Bottle the rock, freeze the ice, stash the dope and rice |
| And get ready for the glamour life |
| Ripped off from the Infiniti |
| Dump the body an' the shottie down the lake, leaving no identity |
| Just the memory, a casualty as I casually make move on my rivalries |
| All eyes I be, on the quest for loot |
| Pushing a Lexus coupe, to pursuit them troops, against the big-joker |
| Sipping alimoca, playing poker with some chocha |
| Heard an approacher, must be fam, or the hammer have to smoke Pun |
| (Get the motherfucking guns) |
| Since now I’ve become the one wanted for a lump sum of G’s |
| Dirty rats pack gats for cheese |
| Bullets of breeze at light speed |
| Taking your pretty wife life and sacrificing your seeds |
| Indeed, we let him bleed for 50 G’s |
| Ship his body to the states, filled with 50 ki’s |
| Please, no remorse for your two face |
| As I assemble my rifle out the motherfucking suitcase |
| You about to take who’s place? |
| Not Seis… |
| Your body’ll be laced, and left without a trace |
| The glamour life, the glamour life, yo |
| It’s the glamour life, blow up the kids and the wife |
| Players who ain’t half as nice swear to, but they sacrifice |
| Bottle the rock, freeze the ice, stash the dope and rice |
| And get ready for the glamour life |
| Yo, it’s the motherfucking Don Cartagena |
| The leader, Terror Squad cleaner |
| Leave your family crying for you like Argentina, Mira |
| Street dreamer like Nas, my entourage is thick |
| Camouflaged in this bitch, so God forbid you start some shit |
| My squad’s equipped with an arsenal of ammunition |
| Hollow tips an', cop killers with the carved initialin' |
| Accounts in Switzerland for rainy days |
| Nigga I’m staying paid, you’s a joke |
| Always broke with your lazy ways |
| Anyway, back to the subject, in the bub-Lex |
| In the back seat, having rough sex |
| I love this glamorous life I live, having the ice and shit |
| Think twice, I give Christ your kids |
| I live life for gifts, keep the five burning while the tires turning |
| I blaze an L and seek a higher learning |
| Kaiser’s learnin' everything illegally |
| We could be friend for years, cross me once that’s thievery |
| The glamour life, blow up the kids and the wife |
| Players who ain’t half as nice swear to, but they sacrifice |
| Bottle the rock, freeze the ice, stash the dope and rice |
| And get ready for the glamour life |
| Yo, the dough, the rap, the audience, party heavy 'til the 40's in |
| Ill like the Yakuza run the Orient |
| Take all the rent, an old man wept the path his daughter went |
| Dicks with the Fallopian, wide as auditorium |
| She fuck for dough for opium, prostitute emporium |
| 500 Benz, 500 friends sell Cambodian |
| 8 cups of vodka, 4 cups of juice for sodium |
| Money, money, sweet as the smell of magnolia |
| It gets you dime bitches spitting image of Apollonia |
| Now how can I go broke, pumping twenties of coke |
| Plus songs I wrote, milkin' dumb honies I poke |
| The young blood sat on the bench in Vant Courtland, slingin' |
| Singing how he trying to get cash for Jordans |
| Another cat toss his Beamer to get the insurance |
| Currency’s gonna murder me… it’s never enough |
| Breakin' my ass gettin' it, just as fast as I spend the stuff |
| Calling Uncle Sam’s bluff dun, taxes don’t bite us, bite us… |
| My life… yo, it’s the glamour life, blow up the kids and the wife |
| Players who ain’t half as nice swear to, but they sacrifice |
| Bottle the rock, freeze the ice, stash the dope and rice |
| And get ready for the glamour life |
| The glamour life, play precise, defense is tight |
| I’m out to settle the score, let’s do it right |
| Enough for looking at grave, it’s paying back tonight |
| Yo Twin pass the lye, pass the light |
| The glamour life, this life I live is trife as shit |
| Least my wife and kid got somewhere nice to live |
| I used to live in the gutter, me and my mother |
| Now she’s fifty years old, pushing a hummer |
| The glamour life, hand me a knife I’ll slice and dice |
| Men or Mice, send them to Christ in the after life |
| Pass the mic down the line, let them hear it |
| Let them fear it, send it screaming to the Holy Spirit |
| Glamour life, the glamour life, the glamour life |
| It’s the glamour life, yo it’s the glamour, it’s the glamour life |
| The glamour life, the glamour life, the glamour life |
| Cock the hammer, end his motherfucking life, bitch |