This is a song about "Iron my jeans"

Everybody, just clap your hands if your a real

All my jeans have three pant legs for dealin with this ordeal

Clutch her jeans while she kicks, osama asked for my tricks.

But somethin' was always missin' like six digits

"billie" in my "jeans", rest in peace mike jackson!

And last but not least please don't tell no one

Dreamed away all these right dreams, nightmares squash like tight jeans

As i stare at the ceiling fan, as a fan of these wicked streets

M.e.k. jeans true religion sweater

It still will come up clever

You all niggas ain't even on my level

No sequel iron at ya temple

Iron my clothes, pick out some shoes

With women with issues