This is a song about "Coca cola"

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

Become a coach designer of body bags and coca leaves

With corrupt leaders and those overseers in the coca fields,

Masked up, this ain't trick or treat, one wrong move they finna squeeze

I can eradicate a village if you give me a beat, huh

I'll put you in a coma shoot you in yoga you drink dicks like cola...

Convertible coupe, bitches scream when they tops split

And fif’ here to lick on that coca-cola shit

Come get a taste, of the these coca lines

All the time with this glock of mines

Whenever there's trouble, viola

Slangin a coke without the cola

Chips ahoy, vanilla cola, sipping syrup slow

Poppa took the television, but left the radio

Jealousy inside, make'em wish i diedoh my lord, tell me what i'm livin' for

Be it spoken sugarcoated or zero coca coke, you're still just livin', dreaded fodder