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