This is a song about "Clothes"

Iron my clothes, pick out some shoes

Yesterday's paper, that's why you old news

We don't do laundry we just buy more clothes,

Alot of episodesand as the glock loads

Dreaming about the cars, clothes, bitches, and hoes,

Love reefer and love sneaker above those

Other words, fill ‘em up wit’ holes

Looking for sum hoes with no clothes

Odd future wolf gang, wolf gang presents

Same clothes for days, same spot for months

But youre there and the fuzz shaking the drugs out your clothes

In my room, redefinin' the meanin' of black holes

They talk about the foreign cars, bitches, and the finest clothes,

That they probably be in the closet of old folks