kate nahi tu kyu apni munchh
lagti hai jaise chuhe ki puchh
kate nahi tu kyu apni munchh
lagti hai jaise chuhe ki puchh
mere dil me chubhti hai teri munchhe
teri munchhe, teri munchhe

pucho na kaise maine munchh ugai
har din sicha har pal khicha
har din sicha har pal khicha
tab kahi jake hai munchh ye aayi
pucho na kaise maine munchh ugai

oye oye oye o o aa
oye oye oye o o aa
tirchi munchho wale, munchhe tu katwa le
munchho ka fashion purana
kyu inme chehra chupana
munchho ka fashion purana
kyu inme chehra chupana

meri munchho ke siva dunia me
rakha kya hai
dunia me koi bhale, meri munchho se jale
mera jina mera marna, inhi munchho ke tale

dekha hai pahli baar
munchho se munchhad ka pyar
firti hu kainchi liye, fasta nahi hai shikar
katungi jis din inhe, aayega us din karar
mujhe tumse itna hi chahiye
meri munchho ko tum chhod do
meri munchho ko tum chhod do
chalo kaato apni ye chotiya
inhe meri munchho me jod do
inhe meri munchho me jod do
chalo kaato apni ye chotiya

mai na katungi
mai na katungi, in balo ko in kaalo ko
resham ke jalo ko
mai na katunga
mai na katunga, muche kali pyar se paali
sabki dekhi bhaali
mai na katungi
mai na katunga
mai na katungi
mai na katunga

Why do you not shear your mustache?
It resembles a mouse's tail, a hushed rush.
Why do you not shear your mustache?
It resembles a mouse's tail, in a shadowed hush.
Your whiskers pierce my heart, a painful brush,
Your whiskers, your whiskers, in a silent blush.

Ask not how I grew this forest of hair,
Each day I watered, each moment I drew,
Each day I watered, each moment I drew,
Only then did this glory appear,
Ask not how I grew this forest to share.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, ah.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, ah.
You with slanted mustaches, shear them away,
The fashion of whiskers is old, a fading gray.
Why hide your face in this archaic display?
The fashion of whiskers is old, turning to clay.
Why hide your face in this shadowed fray?

What else is there in this world, save my own,
Save my own,
Where others may scorn, let my whiskers be known,
My life and my death, beneath whiskers are sown.

I saw for the first time
A love of mustache, a paradigm.
With scissors I wander, the prey does not bind,
The day I will cut, peace of heart I will find.
I only ask you one thing, my design,
Leave my mustaches alone, a divine sign,
Leave my mustaches alone, a vibrant shine.
Go cut off your tresses, your crowning twine,
Join them to my whiskers, a glorious line,
Join them to my whiskers, your soul to enshrine.
Go cut off your tresses, your crowning twine.

I will not cut,
I will not cut, these locks of hair, black and bare,
These webs of silk, beyond compare.
I will not cut,
I will not cut, my mustache black, raised with love,
Looked at by all, from above.
I will not cut,
I will not cut,
I will not cut,
I will not cut.