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Well, my pad is very messy
And there's whiskers on my chin
And I'm all hung up on music
And I always play to win
I ain't got no time for lovin'
You leave your whiskers in the sink, and I've told you 'til I'm black and blue
You never worried what our neighbors think
I can't live without you
I don't know who I am .
I discover whiskers of a cat in a timeless zone.
And I put them on my face.
In a moment I become a sweet little cat.
And I
fuckin' fag like that.
I like them stubbly so there whiskers tickle my balls when they suck
my dick.
Ya know what I'm sayin.
I don't give a fuck.
What?
anything with ass that walk by
Yeah you love her, yeah you hug her and you kiss her
She dome me up, she give me face like some whiskers
Tia's and Tamera's, I
There was an old man named Michael Finnigin
He had whiskers on his chin-i-gin
The wind blew them off and they grew in again
Poor old Michael
with Lazarus billy-goat whiskers
He roasted sea-salt in the open blisters
But blind anarchy slips through the cracks
See naked martyrs with Bubblelicious
Come on sonny, don't be scared 
Gotta act like a Boy Scout, be prepared 
I ain't breaking any laws 
Just dressing up like Santa Claus 
Whiskers
pluck your whiskers you tattle teller

There's rats in the street, and rats in the jail
In the feds, rats wear wires in they cell
Shit Steven Seagal,
Play some pool and listen to that
Tenor saxophone calling me home
And I can hear the band begin
When The Saints Go Marching In
By the whiskers on my
your knees may get

Though your teeth are out
And your whiskers sprout
And your arches give away
You're never too old to be young and gay

When ya
scratchin' the whiskers on my chin region

Gets mad or over-dramatic, it's shitty
You're drinking when you're writing?

I never said I came to re-invent
this elixir and the scissors and the Mr. Whiskers Teddy bear again? 
He can squeeze it while he's screaming and he's bleeding, and he's seizing
During
I know an old man named Michael Finnigan
He grew whiskers on his chin-igan
The wind came out and blew them in again
Poor old Michael Finnigan,
death
And you could tell he was tired
But he hadn't slept for days

Like a stray dog
Growing whiskers
On the corner of the street
Where he has made his
Tickle you with my whiskers
Bu Bu Butter on my toast all season
Rolf I engulf you when tyranny calls
I'm like Kevin with Nas yeah you know I ball
I likes
Tickle you with my whiskers
Bu Bu Butter on my toast all season
Rolf I engulf you when tyranny calls
I'm like Kevin with Nas yeah you know I ball
I likes
a fox on the prowl 

Backyard grass 
Fenced-in lagamorphs 
In strong tea to steep us 
There goes the lepus 

Ears erect, a-quiver 
Whiskers twitch
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens 
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens 
Brown paper packages tied up with string 
These are a few
whiskers long as a cottonmouth tail. Skin as smooth as a grifter and a stomach full of sorrow, break a highway scale. 
Mama, scare your children with
for whiskers then climb to the other side of the bed
And a fact is just a fact
What you give, you get right back
And there's a way to play each hand
Raindrops on roses
And whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few
There was a man
Called Michael Finnegan
He had whiskers
On his chin-ne-gan
Along came the wind and blew them in again
Poor old Michael Finnegan,
Raindrops on roses
And whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few

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