Trapped (Full Version)

[Intro: Proof] Dirty Harry is dead [x4] I'm here to announce that Dirty Harry is dead Now witness the life of his son, or Oil Can Harry, The Boss [Verse 1: Proof] 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 on 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 Naturally, I gotta focus on these bogus poachers Lookin' over my shoulder, Proof get it poppin' like shoulder 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 Got this gun on my wasteline, and woah we don't waste time Ja, man he can't take a punch and 50 can take nine We got School Craft here at the 7, 8, and Dexter I'm up in Holly, spendin' dollas, ain't feelin' no pressure Yes sir, your texture is bitch, betcha ya flinch When Proof shoot up they coup, and waste your whole clique Fuck it who's next on this shit, this is prefrence to bitch When you preface to stiffen slugs enter your wig You'll be next to BIG, Pac is destiny kid Before ya lead get popped, stop testin' me bitch [Hook: 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 feel 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' in this bitch I'm a man, more I'm holdin' my ground To loadin' these rounds, at any call approachin' my ground (blah) I'm a kid but grimey, nothin' but killas And behind me, I'm a bully fully cuz your team is tiny If I was to crush 'em, got to say these Bibles are nothin' This rifle on clutches to leave you stifled on crutches I fight for my cousins that ain't even related Even I stated, not 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 livin' Flappin' 'em slappin' 'em backwards After these rappers' status To shatters, knowin' Proof and that Mathers has gathered an army It's Shady bandatas After rest the game is won, who in the matters get blamed fast with brain damage The name that some forgot, D12, it ain't hard to feel, guard ya grill, it's REAL! [Hook]