Four inches above the knee, they measured with a ruler, Called me a distraction like my thighs were the ruler of some war I didn't start, some crime I didn't do, Funny how the dress code's never aimed at you. Spaghetti straps and skirts and knees, Turns out my body's a fucking disease, Pulled from class to change my shirt, While the boy who stared just watched me hurt. Burn the fucking handbook, burn the fucking list, I'm not a distraction, I'm not a fist you get to swing at every girl in this school, You wrote the dress code, you're the fucking tool. Measure this, count these inches too: Every time you blamed a body over you. Dress code, dress code, tell me what to wear, Dress code, dress code — I don't fucking care. Sent to the office in a borrowed hoodie, Branded a problem for having a body, Half my grade's been pulled from class this week, Not one boy's collar, not one boy's sleeve. Burn the fucking handbook, burn the fucking list, I'm not a distraction, I'm not a fist you get to swing at every girl in this school, You wrote the dress code, you're the fucking tool. Measure this, count these inches too: Every time you blamed a body over you. Dress code, dress code, tell me what to wear, Dress code, dress code — I don't fucking care. (scorching guitar solo — this is where the room loses its mind) You're not protecting us, you're policing us, Not disciplining us, you're just noticing us, Call it modesty, I call it a leash, You're not the dress code — you're the fucking beast. Burn the fucking handbook, burn the fucking list, I'm not a distraction, I'm not a fist, Dress code, dress code, tell me what to wear, Dress code, dress code — I don't fucking care. I don't fucking care. I don't fucking care.
