(Intro)
I wish I wouldn't be so tired
I don't why I should be so tired
I didn't use to be
Well, if you said that and 
Most of us haven't got time for another
You might think about this
It's possible, it's even likely 
That what I'm bout to ask you now
May point out the cause of your tiredness 
And the question is are you gettin' the right amount
Are you getting plenty of every one of those...

(Verse)
Precious z's, I got the TV in the back watching Louie G Omnia
Rappers curing my insomnia, my EP raised wild standards
Droog is a Cuban, y'all black and mild mannered
Yo daughter’s on the word tip, I told her 'get a good grip'
Cuz at any given moment it could slip
Got to exercise self-control well, said it defeats the purpose
Using a victory cigar then roll the L
Burn Swisha sweet, bumpin' this Larry Fisherman beat
You finito, don’t talk that nasty shit!
I’m finna eat though, the state of the game can make ya puke, gross
And the media is on some next shit, gettin' too close
Brotha got the nerve to call himself a journalist
Talkin' all the time, he need to learn to listen
The artist they suck is starstruck when they meet us
Talking like like they shit is deep, it puts me to sleep
Aye yo, all we do is craft rap hangers
That’s slap bumping out their headphones and strap hangers
Use that shit as a metronome, ya know so you don’t forget your poem
Write it down when you get home!
Play that old sound that break head and dome
The entire buildings feel me, I don’t just command the room
You see folks on they best behavior when Droog around
Prefer a girl my age, but I take a cougar down
I knew a chick named Sneakerhead, Sneakerhead
She licked her sole like Fat Joe, even gave the sneaker head
Y'all just have your Puma and Stan Smith and Bates
Do you mind if we dance with yo dates?
Oh, ya mind!? Take it outside and wash shoes
Cats are sort of wild, but couldn’t walk a quarter mile in our shoes
They still shopping at Marshalls, I show up, make em close
Eat your food like stake em, stake em hoes
What are the hoes hearin my cadence and my drawl?
I haven’t even made sense of it all
Send a shot like a spitball, shake the ghost
And make the most of my undyin' spirit, gone! Away with all!
I’m out here getting my career and my bread right
You out there looking like a deer in the headlights
Said it was piff, but it was airy that you sold us
No good! "ike some titties ruined by the aureolas...

(Outro: Next - Too Close)
You're Making It Hard For Me
[...]