A state of being where one starfishes upon their bed and plays Mumford & Sons albums on repeat in order to heal emotional pain; where a person becomes so invested in listening to Mumford & Sons that they lose track of reality.
“Have you seen Katherine the past few days?” “Nah man, she’s in a Mumford coma trying to figure out the meaning of her own existence.”
When you pass out and take a dump in your pants (or shorts) and you wake up and you have a moderate to large sized turd accompanied by multiple smaller pebble to dingleberry sized crewmembers. Much like the band and music that share the same name.
3 days of Yeager and Oxycodone led me to my own personalconcert with Mumford and Sons headlining in my pants.
A band that makes the most beautiful music ever written/sang. It is said that it is the music of heaven. It can be the solution to any problem, feud, or war.
Every war can we ended and resolved just by playing Mumford and Sons. If you are having an argument with someone, all you have so say is "Mumford and Sons", and all will be resolved and fixed again.
A band that tries way too hard to sound 19th century Irish. Like Murphy's Oil Soap, the band has a name that your father recognizes but has never knew was a band. A typical British band that overplays their accent to break through the music (typically you can't hear British accents in songs). A bunch of 40 year olds acting like they're from some obscure town in Northern England 1858.
Pimple-faced teenage who works at McDonalds: "Hey Dad, can I have a few bucks for Mumford and Sons"?
Angry Father in a white t-shirt washing his car: "Sure, son. Just make sure you get you get the largest bottle you can. I need these tires to SHINE!"