Back in Office Saba & No I.D.

[Chorus]
Young Sabastian back in office
Slipped outta the back in a flyin' saucer
"Cristela, where we at?" Declinin' offers
I hear niggas rap and can make salsa

[Verse 1]
Tomato, tomato, it's all sauceless
This feel like Draino to y'all faucets
Superhero, this my negro solstice flow
They hear my shit and then adopt it like a foster home
My granny workin' hard, the main person I call upon
Gold chain hang from my collarbone
I was the same guy in her college dorm
And I ain't never had a college dorm
Body like a bottle and her skin tone terracotta
I'm from Chicago, we invented mobsters
Some call me "Saba," others call me "Saba"
As long as it's love, it's not a problem
I filet a voyeur like I'm Óscar de la Hoya
Fuck is y'all lookin' at?
Hot potato, oil, I can fry the game or boil
They like, "Fuck is y'all cookin', crack?"
Got niggas askin', "Is it jazz or is it rap?"
I'm a bit imaginative, I'm where the ribbon at
In the sky, I can write like Jack Kerouac
I can say anything, it don't even have to match
I can wear anything, it don't even have to match
When it comes to rap peers, I don't even have a match
Like a smoker lookin' for a light, pattin' they jacket flaps
Raised by the old school, G-pa in the Cadillac, that's