Lyrics Jon Hamm - Soul Khan

Jon Hamm

God damn
Y’all couldn’t do this
But Khan can
Try to ignore me
But that shit is corny
I’ll blow up at forty like Jon Hamm
Now lift up your palm like you’re
Picking a star from
A system that’s far far away
Any position, division, or conference
I will still rip it like Jesse Katsopolis
This shit is Bosch
No, not Chris
It’s Hieronymous
Painter translation: this picture’s preposterous
You’d get an Oscar to say this is progress
And last I checked, Oscar still lives in the garbage
Why can’t every day be Christmas in Hollis?
My spirit animal’s a miniature dachshund
That taught me to sniff through the business and politics
Deep as a Christopher Wallace breath
They dig in your pockets
And leave you with nothing but lint and a promise
And pink slips are all you get
Please get me a Dogfish Head
Cool, now I’m Super like Nintendo Chalmers
God damn
Y’all couldn’t do this
But Khan can
Try to ignore me
But that shit is corny
I’ll blow up at forty like Jon Hamm
Lately, I’m haunted by terrible thoughts
That make me want to holler ‘til Jericho drops
Like how many days does young TerRio got
If his parent don’t stop him from eating his way
To a burial plot with a cherry on top
Oo killem, you will if you share it and watch
Then click on a pic of an areola
And ask what that mouth do like a periodon
Tist tsk
You bury your conscience
Keep telling yourself that the babies don’t watch us
You stare at the box that created these monsters
These kids ain’t grown up right like Haley Joel Osment
Turn the monitors and radios off
If we’re going downhill, get your sleighs and toboggans
But back in the fourth grade, my pulse rate would pulsate
Thinking what I would do to Amy Jo Johnson
God damn
Y’all couldn’t do this
But Khan can
Try to ignore me
But that shit is corny
I’ll blow up at forty like Jon Hamm
Give something, get something like justice
Ride round town on a muddy white cutlass
The horse not the car
Act funny like douglas
Abortion your thoughts with the front of my musket
Lo fi pacinos got no time to reload
We don’t like the g-code we go by bushido
Got an ace up my sleeve like a low life casino
My crew is all moonwalkers, no time for Titos
I remember one kid stole my Dorritos
Said one day he would make it snow by the kilo
Now my taste’s developed, I’m so Sausalito
So don’t crown my head, please just stovepipe my genome
The same mind that memorized that four score and seven
But still never jeopardized any scoreboard in Tekken
Before your inception, we listened to the griot
If you want the grigio, put a cork in your questions
God damn
Y’all couldn’t do this
But Khan can
Try to ignore me
But that shit is corny
I’ll blow up at forty like Jon Hamm