Luyện nghe bài hát Dress Code

You what's makin' me mad?
Day day I'm catchin' all of this slack
Seems you wear a suit, unless you wanna jacked
'Cause in the '90s, y'all, these fools got a set of them

if you ain't wearin' a three-piece suit, you gotta gang bang
I walked in a rest', 'bout to
And people starin' like I had manure on my
Grabbin' they purse, checkin' wallets in the back

And thinkin' I'ma rob em, I'm in all black
Yo, my Corduroys are cuffed with a crease down the
Snake skin around my waist, so my pants a little
But I don't deal the package of

So what's the reason for the dirty
Yo, check my in your books
like every time I slap on my Starter cap
And step for a of fresh air
I end up up a questionnaire

"What's name?" "Where you're goin?"
"Yo, what are you from?"
They tell me "Don't get smart" and so I play
'Cause when I tell em where I stay, it doesn't get

Live in South Central, assume you got a jail record
A stereotypical
That if you look like me, you gotta run with a
'Cause when I step upon the scene gettin' petrol

No matter what the
(What's up?)
I'm sweated for my dress code
(Wear a and tie and run with the creeps)

(That's why they just like suckers)
(Ha?)
(Suckers)
(What?)
(Suckers)

What is this, a I'm buggin' off the way that I'm livin'
Seems everywhere I I'm assumin' the position
At I'm gettin' tired of hearin' the same old thing
come the rickety security, sweatin me for my earring

I don't carry a gun, though consider me a threat
I guess I got em scared by the way I dress
Unlike you I couldn't afford to shop at or Penny's
So it's off to the meet for a fresh pair of Dickey's

So what tellin' me, is now I'm a crook
Who wrote the book on how a kid in my position's to look?
Get me a fade and a pair of tight
I get a chance with the girls who wouldn't give me a

A big funny lookin' hat just to cover my
A pair of patten leather shoes might me out of scraps
If I made that turn, it might save me some
But I watch my back, on the alert for a squabble

Don't go here, don't go there, brothers up missin'
Got a pocket full of money, and I'm still dissed
'Cause a scam or a phase of my life that I'm goin' through
If you like me, you gotta run with a crew

I'm tickin' like a bomb, ready to explode
Even in my front
(What's up?)
I'm sweated for my dress code
(Alright, fellas, no shoes, no hats, no khakis, alright?)

Let's take a trip to the club
(Somebody tell me what's on)
You gotta a silk shirt just to dance to a funky song
Bouncers enemies for minimum wage
But they're the first ones to run when the club gets

Don't wanna let me in, I'm wearin' my beeper
And if you're sportin' gold, then you gotta be a dealer
(I 17.50 to hear a funky rhyme flow
And sweatin' at the do' like I just entered a fashion show)

Yo, they put a curfew on Westwood, to keep me in my
My to the back, so I must be up to no good
(I got a jacket on my for the fact that I rap
And they heard I was Compton, so they ran they pennies back)

Scared of me for what, no, I don't tux
And if I ever got a Grammy, man, I'd bail in Chuck
Tailors to show the whole world alright to be yourself
I change the way I dress, so I can look like the rest?

Wearin' red, black and green, but they don't know it means
Put on a African medallion, now they're with the team
for a click, first they wouldn't, now they switched
But they ain't rich
(Ain't a bitch?)

Go strike a GQ pose, I got in my stroll
So ban my video
(For what?)
'Cause they didn't like my code