Listen, stream, buy, mp3 download, watch lyrics video and read the Lyrics to OIL CAN CARRY by Big Proof. The song was produced by Eminem.
Big Proof Oil Can Harry (prod. Eminem)
On April 11th, 2006, hip-hop was shocked to learn that Big Proof had been fatally shot in his home city of Detroit, Michigan. The tragic news sent a ripple throughout the local scene, as Proof was among the D’s most influential leaders on a variety of levels; without him, it’s entirely possible that Eminem wouldn’t be where he is today. While many have become familiar with Proof’s work on the D12 albums Devil’s Night and D12 World, as well as his own solo debut Searching For Jerry Garcia, many fans still look fondly on his 2005 mixtape Grown Man Shit, hosted by DJ Salam Wreck.
One of the project’s highlights arrives by way of the penultimate track “Oil Can Harry,” a dark banger that eventually went on to be repurposed as a tribute on Eminem’s Shady Records compilation album The Re-Up. In its original state, “Oil Can Harry” features an additional verse from Big Proof, who rides Em’s glitchy and menacing production with a feral flow; something about his gravelly cadence seems to suggest madness lurking beneath the surface, one that complements his fearless nature quite nicely. “Real as this gun on my waistline, at war we don’t waste time,” he warns. “Ja, man, he can’t take a punch and 50 can take nine.”
Big Proof – Oil Can Harry (prod. Eminem)
Lyric Video
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KVf4elwqOGs
Lyrics
[Intro: Proof & DJ Salam Wreck]
Derty HSalam Wreck!
(arry is dead) [x4]
I’m here to announce that Derty Harry is dead
Now we witness the rise of the son
Oil Can Harry, the Boss
Hahaha (Wreck!)
[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
The, tbeef 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 from this shit? This is [?]
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!)
[Outro: DJ Salam Wreck]
Yeah, Big Proof!
Grown Man Shit!
Shoutout to Mark Hicks, Jimmy Neutron
Mario, Skinny Boy Graphics
You know what I’m sayin’?
Firstborn, everybody up at Iron Fist
DJ Salam Wreck, let’s go!
