[Intro: Ghetto-house male MC, pounding kick, chanted] Wash it, dry it, fold it, jack Wash it, dry it, fold it, jack [Verse 1: Ghetto-house male MC, chanted and punchy over pounding kick] Two o'clock, the house lights hit, the bouncer clears the floor Forty of us on the sidewalk and the party wants some more Darnell pops his trunk and sets a speaker on a crate Parkin' lot is jumpin' till the cruiser at the gate Three o'clock, the diner, we were dancin' in the booth Waitress said I love you, but the manager's the truth Four o'clock, the bus stop, till the bus came round the bend And the driver wouldn't take us 'cause we wouldn't let it end [Hook: Ghetto-house male MC, full band, chanted] Permanent press, they keep pressin' us out the door And we come out with no wrinkles, ready for some more Wash it, dry it, fold it, jack it, back up off the wall Permanent press, you can't crease us, we don't fold at all [Verse 2: Ghetto-house male MC, faster, rattling claps] Five o'clock, the laundromat, the only light around Open twenty-four, the sign says, and the door don't make a sound Lyle's behind the counter with a crossword and a cat He says rules are rules, you want to stay, you run a load, that's that So we're throwin' in our jackets, then our shirts, and then our socks Forty people in their undershirts and quarters in a box Darnell's speaker on the foldin' table, bass against the glass Every washer keepin' time, the whole room spinnin' fast [Break: Ghetto-house male MC, dryer buzzer, twelve dryers finish together and the buzzers land on the downbeat as the bass slams back] Lyle put the crossword down and stepped out from the back Man is sixty-three years old, but Lord, the man can jack Twelve dryers, twelve timers, every one set the same Lyle says wait for it, wait for it, here comes the rain [Verse 3: Ghetto-house male MC, full band, victory chant] Six a.m., the sun comes up, we walk out on the street Forty people warm and folded, smellin' clean and neat Same cruiser from the parkin' lot goes rollin' slowly by And they look at us like church let out and they can't figure why Every Saturday since then, when the club lights hit at two Lyle props the door and says bring your darks, I'm waitin' up for you They can press us out of every room from here to Tennessee But a press is just a setting, and this setting's permanent, see [Hook: Ghetto-house male MC, full band, chanted] Permanent press, they keep pressin' us out the door And we come out with no wrinkles, ready for some more Wash it, dry it, fold it, jack it, back up off the wall Permanent press, you can't crease us, we don't fold at all [End]
