This is a song about "Coca"

Become a coach designer of body bags and coca leaves

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

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

Come get a taste, of the these coca lines

I be way out in cali, got hoes of all types

With corrupt leaders and those overseers in the coca fields,

I cop weed for less of a percentage than i fucking plot seeds

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

I call that insecure, sh-sh-shawty think she all that