Luyện nghe bài hát Dress Code

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

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

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

So what's the for the dirty looks?
Yo, check my name in books
Seem like every time I on my Starter cap
And step for a breath of air
I end up fillin' up a

"What's your name?" "Where goin?"
"Yo, gang are you from?"
They tell me "Don't get smart" and so I dumb
when I tell em where I stay, it doesn't get better

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

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

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

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

I don't carry a gun, though they me a threat
I I got em scared by the way that I dress
you I couldn't afford to shop at Macy's or Penny's
So it's off to the swap 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 supposed to
Get me a and a pair of tight pants
I get a with the girls who wouldn't give me a glance

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

go here, don't go there, brothers comin' up missin'
Got a pocket full of money, and I'm getttin' dissed
'Cause it's a scam or a phase of my life that I'm goin'
If you dress like me, you gotta run with a

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

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

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

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

Scared of me for what, no, I wear tux
And if I ever got a Grammy, man, I'd in some Chuck
Tailors to the whole world it's alright to be yourself
Should I the way I dress, so I can look like the rest?

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

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