This is a song about "Coast"

Im out ready to jet i'll meet you up coast

Girl your body lookin’ like a fuckin’ pot of gold

I'm on the british south east coast mate

And that was when i was in the eighth grade

Franky lymon the lime light gets old

But now i'm on the east coast, west coast

I was worthless, i'd never make it, go ahead! spill that hatred

You have fucked with a west coast bay area cali kid

I watched people i know pray and catch the holy ghost

Appalachia and the row homes in the northeast coast,

From the east to the west coast

All this paper i fold

I got plans for you look in the sky baby

West coast niggas got more roots than a orange tree,

Coast of martha's vineyard drinking hennessy

Rearrange yo rocks you got a gang of friends, money