[Intro: Proof]
Derty Harry is dead [x4]
I'm here to announce that Derty Harry is dead
Now witness the life of his son, or Oil Can Harry, The Boss

[Verse 1: Proof & Eminem]
My life is trapped in these lines, that’s why I’m packin' these nines
I gotta rap, I ain’t dyin', that’s in the back of my mind
Got a strap made of iron, can’t relax on this grind
Bendin' over backwards for these slackers 'til I’m snappin' my spine
Natural high, gotta focus, on these bogus poachers
Lookin' over my shoulder, Proof get it poppin' like soda
Hold up, we nothin' but soldiers
Slow up, this gun is loaded
Roll up, they beef and we leavin' ‘em coked up!
If Slim say it, I spray it; if he will it, I kill it
We Kilpatrick and Ilitch of Detroit, y'all can feel it
Real as this gun on my waistline, at war we don't waste time
Ja, man, he can’t take a punch and 50 can take nine (brrrah!)
We got Schoolcraft here at the 7, 8, and Dexter
I’m up in Hollis spendin’ dollars, ain’t feelin' no pressure
Yes sir, your texture is bitch, betcha you flinch
When Proof shoot up that coup and wet your whole clique
Fuck it, who's next on this shit? This is breakfast time, bitch!
When you brothers is stiff as slugs exit ya wig
You'll be next to B.I.G., Pac, it's destiny kid
Before ya lid get popped, stop testin' me, bitch!
[Chorus: Proof]
Homie, you think you tough? (What?)
Think we won't fuck you up? (Punk!)
Even the innocent get pistol-whipped by this pistol grip (Punk!)
Talkin' shit, you drunk? (What?)
Think I won't fuck you up? (Punk?)
We both deep, I ain't scared and I don't give a fuck (Jump!)

[Verse 2: Proof]
I ain't fail no games, homie don't even try
We ain't bowin' down to no one, we gon' start a riot (yeah)
Heart of fire, soul of ice, roll the dice, see what you get
No advice all my life, I ain't leavin' this bitch
I'm a man, I'm holdin' my ground, unloadin' these rounds
At any clown approachin' my crown (brrrah!)
I'ma keep it grimey, nothin' but killas seen behind me
I'ma bully fully 'cuz your team is tiny
If I was to crush you, God can’t save you; Bibles are nothin'
This rifle I'm clutchin' to leave you stifled on crutches, hah
I fight for my cousins that ain't even related
Even I'll state it now, from life I leave you bleedin' and faded
Hatin' made in my nature, I'm clappin' and clackin' your captain
Smackin' faggots and act as a rapper with platinum status
Ya liver flappin', I'm slappin' 'em backwards
Half of these rappers' status to shadders
Knowin' Proof and the Mathers has gathered an army
It's Shady bandanas, after us the game is one
Who in the matters get plain-fashioned brain damage
The name that some forgot, D12
It ain't hard to feel, guard ya grill, it's real!
[Chorus: Proof]
Homie, you think you tough? (What?)
Think we won't fuck you up? (Punk!)
Even the innocent get pistol-whipped by this pistol grip (Punk!)
Talkin' shit, you drunk? (What?)
Think I won't fuck you up? (Punk?)
We both deep, I ain't scared and I don't give a fuck (Jump!)