Luyện nghe bài hát Dress Code

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

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

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

So the reason for the dirty looks?
Yo, check my in your books
Seem like time I slap on my Starter cap
And step for a of fresh air
I end up fillin' up a

"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 get better

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

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

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

What is this, a prison? I'm buggin' off the way I'm livin'
everywhere I turn I'm assumin' the position
At school I'm gettin' of hearin' the same old thing
Here 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 to shop at Macy's or Penny's
So it's off to the swap meet for a 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 give me a glance

A big funny lookin' hat to cover my naps
A of patten leather shoes might keep me out of scraps
If I made that turn, it might me some trouble
But I gotta 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 still getttin'
'Cause it's a scam or a phase of my life I'm goin' through
If you dress like me, you gotta run a crew

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

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

Don't wanna let me in, because I'm wearin' my
And if sportin' gold, then you gotta be a dope dealer
(I paid 17.50 to a funky rhyme flow
And they're sweatin' at the do' like I 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 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 don't tux
And if I got a Grammy, man, I'd bail in some Chuck
Tailors to show the world it's alright to be yourself
Should I change the way I dress, so I can look like the

Wearin' red, black and green, but they don't know what it
Put on a African medallion, now they're down with the
Penetratin' for a click, 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 they ban my
(For what?)
'Cause didn't like my dress code