Can I lay down the "get downs" now?
Can I lay down the "get downs" now?
You can lay down the "get downs" now,
You can lay down the "get downs" now.
Shoes match your shirt,
Shoes, shoes match your shirt.
And yeah, it feels so good!
When your shoes match your shirt,
For me, when they don't match, it hurts.
It seems crazy and
absurd:
It's like pants on a bird.
It's like a snail in a shirt.
It's like a whale speaking words.
When my shoes don't match my shirt,
I get
anxious, I get nervous,
I get itchy—do I deserve this?
I'm crazy
thrifty, I'm not rich,
I don't spend a lot of money for the fun of it.
They say the clothes make the man; that's a
myth,
A made-up story, and that's it.
'Cause I make my own clothes; I sew 'em,
Like a poet makes a poem.
And I don't buy or purchase most of the clothes off the shelf,
In fact, I make most of my clothes myself.
So fresh, so clean, they notice me,
I dress so mean, and you know that, B!
Shoes match your shirt,
Shoes, shoes match your shirt.
So now you know I like clothes and fashion,
Let me tell about the other day, what happened.
Ate a big
hearty breakfast; I'm out the door,
Showed up to school at 8:04.
Saw my friend Pedro and said, "Whoa!"
I saw that we looked
identical;
We were dressed the same with a vest and chain,
And a shirt that was real bright,
vivid green.
We were looking at each other like we couldn't believe it;
We looked like twins, like Serena and Venus.
We had
combined the same pants and top,
Brought them together like, "Yeah, that's hot."
But I don't get dressed with friends; I dress
solo,
All by myself; if not, it's a no-no.
But Pedro said, "Don't scream and shout,
I'm going to rock my vest straight inside-out!"
Shoes match your shirt,
Shoes, shoes match your shirt.
Monday, that's cummerbund day,
Tuesday, I dress in my blue suede.
Wednesday, I wear white like a sensei,
Thursday is rock-my-collared-shirt day.
Friday, rock high-tops and bright socks,
Saturday, wear long shorts and flip-flops.
Sunday, wear my tuxedo T-shirt,
All week long, my shoes match my shirt.