You wear a particular garment,
you just got to accept the fact that you are gonna be
assumed to be part of a particular organization. That’s just what it is. I love the color blue.
I love wearing blue. But the Crips have
informed me… that maybe I shouldn’t
wear blue all the time. ‘Cause the gangs
don’t mess around. They still don’t want you
wearing they colors. You can’t wear the blue,
which make me mad. Damn, brother,
I’m 38 years old. At what point can I wear blue
again, sir? You know, I obeyed
all the gang rules in my 20s. I didn’t wear your colors,
but I’m grown. At this point, if I want to
put on a blue shirt, I should be able to put on
a blue shirt if I want a blue shirt. But they don’t do that.
The Crips get in your face. Yeah, mother–
What hood you claiming, boy? What hood you– Sir, I’m claiming
adulthood, okay? That’s my hood. That– And I had a blazer on.
That’s what made it so bad. I had a blazer on
on top of my blue shirt. What make you think I’m– What gang you know
put a blazer on before they start murdering? Who you know? Even if I am a Crip,
obviously, I’m a supervisor. You’re out of line. I will write your ass up.