Under Attack Lyrics
| Song | Under Attack |
| Artist | MC Eiht |
| Album | Last Man Standing |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Heeeyyy, uhh, half ounce in yo mouth | |
| Check it out, half ounce in the house | |
| Chrous：bring the yellow tape nigga fosho, | |
| Playa hatas infiltrate us niggas hell no, | |
| Fools ready to die, | |
| Don't be afraid, | |
| Bring your gun and your sac cuzz we under attack, | |
| Verse 1: | |
| Takes no chances, | |
| End with up that least circumstances, | |
| Keeps a cool composure, | |
| One time's takin those glances, | |
| Who be's your enemy on the evilest team, | |
| Racketeerin all your c.r.e.a.m., | |
| Havin your worst bad dreams, | |
| Pesos for all the amigos | |
| And the sistas, | |
| How ya likin us now, | |
| Competitas gon' bow, | |
| Ain't nothin' top dollar straight corner to corner, | |
| Keeps my hand in the pie like little jack horner, | |
| Soldiers on my left right ready to die, | |
| Infiltraters six feet keeps our head to the sky, | |
| Its a cold cruel world tryin to watch my back, | |
| Got these cold ass thugs ready to ride and jack, | |
| Shiit!! for the paper, | |
| Street dreams and all, | |
| Best be ready to hit the doo' when the one times call, | |
| Gots the picture its still for the money son, | |
| And if you're bailin' through compton you betta bring a gun, | |
| Chrous: 2x | |
| Verse2: boom bam | |
| I deliever my blow it could be fatal, | |
| Get yo ass smashed like potatoes and gravy, | |
| Maybe with some prctice you can fade me, | |
| But i doubt it, picked up the compton time | |
| And read about it, how my crew makes the front page | |
| In a rage, in a live concert blowin blunts on stage, | |
| People swingin' on a chasity and got the place packed | |
| To the maximum capacity, people comin from far and near, | |
| To get a glimpse of these gang-bangers, playas and pimps, check it out, | |
| When we roll we rolls thick like some nappy ass hair, | |
| Straight chronic smoke up in the air, | |
| So get it straight nigga, | |
| Boom-bam and eiht nigga,(geeyyaa), | |
| Peeped yo' game from the start nigga, | |
| We know you fake nigga, | |
| We gots to keep a close eye fools under our backs, | |
| Lock the gates sound the guns cuzz we under attack. | |
| Chrous:2x | |
| Verse3: mc eiht | |
| Betta' watch out for the murder i wrote, black super spokes | |
| Black stars and a black leather coat, on a mission, | |
| Dead presidents i gots to stackin, enemies can't see the ya-ya | |
| In my jacket, best raise up before i set it off on g.p., | |
| First rule if you tryin' to bring harm to me, | |
| Felony case catcher to the first degree, | |
| Like the ginger bread man yall can't catch me, | |
| On the run stilla nigga held no jail cells, | |
| Keeps two steps ahead, no traces for feds, | |
| Phone taps instead, on the celluar phone, | |
| Dumb as fuck cuzz they don't know the number was called, | |
| Outta the country, d.a. on the payroll yall, | |
| Me and a little senortia on my side the black heater, | |
| Sweeter than the rest, paid pounds at gate sippin, | |
| While shippin to the u.s.a., | |
| Chrous:3x |
| Heeeyyy, uhh, half ounce in yo mouth | |
| Check it out, half ounce in the house | |
| Chrous: bring the yellow tape nigga fosho, | |
| Playa hatas infiltrate us niggas hell no, | |
| Fools ready to die, | |
| Don' t be afraid, | |
| Bring your gun and your sac cuzz we under attack, | |
| Verse 1: | |
| Takes no chances, | |
| End with up that least circumstances, | |
| Keeps a cool composure, | |
| One time' s takin those glances, | |
| Who be' s your enemy on the evilest team, | |
| Racketeerin all your c. r. e. a. m., | |
| Havin your worst bad dreams, | |
| Pesos for all the amigos | |
| And the sistas, | |
| How ya likin us now, | |
| Competitas gon' bow, | |
| Ain' t nothin' top dollar straight corner to corner, | |
| Keeps my hand in the pie like little jack horner, | |
| Soldiers on my left right ready to die, | |
| Infiltraters six feet keeps our head to the sky, | |
| Its a cold cruel world tryin to watch my back, | |
| Got these cold ass thugs ready to ride and jack, | |
| Shiit!! for the paper, | |
| Street dreams and all, | |
| Best be ready to hit the doo' when the one times call, | |
| Gots the picture its still for the money son, | |
| And if you' re bailin' through compton you betta bring a gun, | |
| Chrous: 2x | |
| Verse2: boom bam | |
| I deliever my blow it could be fatal, | |
| Get yo ass smashed like potatoes and gravy, | |
| Maybe with some prctice you can fade me, | |
| But i doubt it, picked up the compton time | |
| And read about it, how my crew makes the front page | |
| In a rage, in a live concert blowin blunts on stage, | |
| People swingin' on a chasity and got the place packed | |
| To the maximum capacity, people comin from far and near, | |
| To get a glimpse of these gangbangers, playas and pimps, check it out, | |
| When we roll we rolls thick like some nappy ass hair, | |
| Straight chronic smoke up in the air, | |
| So get it straight nigga, | |
| Boombam and eiht nigga, geeyyaa, | |
| Peeped yo' game from the start nigga, | |
| We know you fake nigga, | |
| We gots to keep a close eye fools under our backs, | |
| Lock the gates sound the guns cuzz we under attack. | |
| Chrous: 2x | |
| Verse3: mc eiht | |
| Betta' watch out for the murder i wrote, black super spokes | |
| Black stars and a black leather coat, on a mission, | |
| Dead presidents i gots to stackin, enemies can' t see the yaya | |
| In my jacket, best raise up before i set it off on g. p., | |
| First rule if you tryin' to bring harm to me, | |
| Felony case catcher to the first degree, | |
| Like the ginger bread man yall can' t catch me, | |
| On the run stilla nigga held no jail cells, | |
| Keeps two steps ahead, no traces for feds, | |
| Phone taps instead, on the celluar phone, | |
| Dumb as fuck cuzz they don' t know the number was called, | |
| Outta the country, d. a. on the payroll yall, | |
| Me and a little senortia on my side the black heater, | |
| Sweeter than the rest, paid pounds at gate sippin, | |
| While shippin to the u. s. a., | |
| Chrous: 3x |
| Heeeyyy, uhh, half ounce in yo mouth | |
| Check it out, half ounce in the house | |
| Chrous: bring the yellow tape nigga fosho, | |
| Playa hatas infiltrate us niggas hell no, | |
| Fools ready to die, | |
| Don' t be afraid, | |
| Bring your gun and your sac cuzz we under attack, | |
| Verse 1: | |
| Takes no chances, | |
| End with up that least circumstances, | |
| Keeps a cool composure, | |
| One time' s takin those glances, | |
| Who be' s your enemy on the evilest team, | |
| Racketeerin all your c. r. e. a. m., | |
| Havin your worst bad dreams, | |
| Pesos for all the amigos | |
| And the sistas, | |
| How ya likin us now, | |
| Competitas gon' bow, | |
| Ain' t nothin' top dollar straight corner to corner, | |
| Keeps my hand in the pie like little jack horner, | |
| Soldiers on my left right ready to die, | |
| Infiltraters six feet keeps our head to the sky, | |
| Its a cold cruel world tryin to watch my back, | |
| Got these cold ass thugs ready to ride and jack, | |
| Shiit!! for the paper, | |
| Street dreams and all, | |
| Best be ready to hit the doo' when the one times call, | |
| Gots the picture its still for the money son, | |
| And if you' re bailin' through compton you betta bring a gun, | |
| Chrous: 2x | |
| Verse2: boom bam | |
| I deliever my blow it could be fatal, | |
| Get yo ass smashed like potatoes and gravy, | |
| Maybe with some prctice you can fade me, | |
| But i doubt it, picked up the compton time | |
| And read about it, how my crew makes the front page | |
| In a rage, in a live concert blowin blunts on stage, | |
| People swingin' on a chasity and got the place packed | |
| To the maximum capacity, people comin from far and near, | |
| To get a glimpse of these gangbangers, playas and pimps, check it out, | |
| When we roll we rolls thick like some nappy ass hair, | |
| Straight chronic smoke up in the air, | |
| So get it straight nigga, | |
| Boombam and eiht nigga, geeyyaa, | |
| Peeped yo' game from the start nigga, | |
| We know you fake nigga, | |
| We gots to keep a close eye fools under our backs, | |
| Lock the gates sound the guns cuzz we under attack. | |
| Chrous: 2x | |
| Verse3: mc eiht | |
| Betta' watch out for the murder i wrote, black super spokes | |
| Black stars and a black leather coat, on a mission, | |
| Dead presidents i gots to stackin, enemies can' t see the yaya | |
| In my jacket, best raise up before i set it off on g. p., | |
| First rule if you tryin' to bring harm to me, | |
| Felony case catcher to the first degree, | |
| Like the ginger bread man yall can' t catch me, | |
| On the run stilla nigga held no jail cells, | |
| Keeps two steps ahead, no traces for feds, | |
| Phone taps instead, on the celluar phone, | |
| Dumb as fuck cuzz they don' t know the number was called, | |
| Outta the country, d. a. on the payroll yall, | |
| Me and a little senortia on my side the black heater, | |
| Sweeter than the rest, paid pounds at gate sippin, | |
| While shippin to the u. s. a., | |
| Chrous: 3x |
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