DESCRIPTION:
LYRICS:

(Magnus Von)
Open mouth to yawn with a breath full of liqs
Raging erection signalin' the day's begin
Got more hair on my dick than my upper lip
But I'm still too drunk and too lazy to shave it
Without slicin' the skin, I was grippin' the fore
Teein' off on her second hole, leavin' the grass tore
But that was before I awoke on the hotel floor
Stumble this pile of shame out the lobby door
I got a face for 670 The Score
Screamin' at my radio more than Terry Boers
Of course I'm gonna insult these whores as I walk by
Already drunk at 9 AM, full of surprises
Jack tries to pull my out of my daze
Apologizin' to nuns I mistook for sluts, thanks
Man, you're my favorite mustached friend
A public relations expert for the folks I offend
Drink in my hand
Ear full of bass
Mic on the stand
Mustache on my face

(Whisker Tickles)
I know that you see me when I walk on past
Turnin' your head so fast you get whiplash
Try to deny it but you know it won't last
Everyone submits to the power of the mustache
Hey, hey, hey, put some fur on your face
(Hey, hey, hey, put some fur on your face!)
There's a place above your upper lip, fill in the space
Said hey, hey, hey, put some hair on your lip
(Hey, hey, hey, put some hair on your lip!)
You can say what you want but I know I look hip
The hair on my lip denotes my authority
Got me lookin' much more like a minority
You never get ladies when you're lookin' that way
Doesn't really matter 'cus they probably think I'm gay
Bald faced faggots gonna say what they say
The follicle fun on my mouth is here to stay
Drink in my hand
Ear full of bass
Mic on the stand
Mustache on my face

(Magnus Von)
Facial sprouts, salons wanna frost it
We're mustache salad and listeners wanna toss it
A mosh pit of fun sits on my maxillae
Fuck the plastic out Rachel Rae with a metal spatula
Rust on the vaginal walls a major concern
For the chicks I've licked when the foreplay was my turn
Metal tongue, silver lung, watermelon liver
Mixin' my milk with malt liquor and paint thinner
Unabashed sinner that got sick of hopin' religion would die
So I shot that hippie Christ out of the sky
And caught a surprise when he brushed off the dirt and
Became a devoted disciple of the mustache
(What's that?) Just Tairy and Jack bein' lame as shit
Doin' their best drunk John Oates impression
Decent musicians that couldn't make Sara smile
'Cus Sara thought they were gross but Sara was in denial
They got drinks in their hand
Ear fulls of bass
Mics on the stand
Mustache on their faces

(Whisker Tickles)
Mustache duo, outcast like Pluto
Genius, but not smart enough to stay in school though
Big, hairy lips. Limp, little dicks
Doesn't really matter 'cus we never get chicks
These nuts is hard to crack like pistachios
Handsome like Dicaprio but much more mustachio
Magic always happens where a mustache grows
Got a caterpillar crawlin' under my nose
Say what you want 'bout our facial hairdos
But fuck yourself, and anyone that looks like you
It doesn't seem likely that you take your social cues
From drunken retards who are easily amused
By hair that grows above oral cavities
Held down by gravity and neurological atrophy
If you think this song is the product of apathy
Write your own shit, go ahead and spit it at me
Drink in my hand
Ear full of bass
Mic on the stand
Mustache on my face
Drink in our hands
Ears full of bass
Mic on the stand
Mustache on our faces