Punch Drunk Munkees

Punch Drunk Munkees

 Henderson, Nevada, USA
BandHip HopBlues

We're an ad hoc group of twenty-somethings living in Las Vegas who created a mix of hip hop and blues, which we have dubbed "medium listening" due to its cerebral lyrical content.

Biography

Punch Drunk Munkess produces a mix of hip hop and blues, with a cerebral lyrical content aimed at current events and situations that go largely ignored by modern music, which seems to be obsessed with love songs and dance songs that contribute to the dumbing down of society.

The band's influences include Eminem, Blues Traveler, Dave Matthews Band, 311, Beastie Boys, Gorillaz, and Sublime.

Back story:
Inonimous, a hip hop artist with 10 years of songwriting/recording experience, took a 2-year hiatus from making music.

In early 2009, he was approached by Sean Malone to take up the cause again as a hobby.

After a few studio sessions, they stumbled across the sound that would define them - a mixture of hip hop and blues/rock that catered to both of their musical backgrounds.

By the time the third song, "Caveman," was recorded, they had added other members to fill in as background musicians. The founding members, Inonimous and Malone, had committed to pressing a full-length studio album, which was released in January 2010.

Lyrics

Wordsmith

Written By: Punch Drunk Munkees

Wordsmith

Album: E.U.I (Evolving Under the Influence)

©2010 P.D.M. Music Co. All rights reserved.

Chorus:
I'm a mothafuckin’ wordsmith.
I can strike anywhere, anytime, like bird shit.
Look up to the sky witness it first person.
Let this wigga rhyme, quick to kick sick verses.
I'm a mothafuckin’ wordsmith.
With a mic in my hand, here I stand so perfect.
Just wanna clear my mind, draw back the curtains.
Open up your mind, let me scratch the surface.

Verse I:
Okay, I say holy shit, and my doo doo prays to God.
You say I'm a bitch, then I just shake it off.
I say lots of shit. Is it true? You make the call.
If words could save the earth, shit, we'd say ‘em all.
Buts words ain't worth a shit. They’re empty… blah, blah, blah.
Don't dance around this fact. This ain’t Cha-cha-cha.
Don't cry about your life. I ain't grandma ma ma.
You complain too motherfuckin’ much. Ha, ha, ha!
Do-re-mi-fa-so, Hoe. La, la, la.
I get mine fo' sho' yo. La dee da.
Shake your pom pom poms, bitch. Rah, rah, rah.
Fourth down and inches , do I punt? Nah, nah, nah.

Chorus:
I'm a mothafuckin’ wordsmith.
I can strike anywhere, anytime, like bird shit.
Look up to the sky witness it first person.
Let this wigga rhyme, quick to kick sick verses.
I'm a mothafuckin’ wordsmith.
With a mic in my hand, here I stand so perfect.
Just wanna clear my mind, draw back the curtains.
Open up your mind, let me scratch the surface.

Verse II:
Better bone up, before you pop in my tape.
Motherfucker it ain't music. It's a mind state.
Gourmet flow, I serve you up on a nice plate.
White and hustle for dollars, I call this shit rice cake.
But here I go again. Shit I ain't White Snake.
I'm sick of spittin’ bullshit. I hope my mic breaks.
But as luck would have it, words still spewing out my face.
Now go and syndicate me on MySpace.
I don't dance bitch. This ain't Swan Lake.
I keep it raw, medium rare. Now go cook my steak.
My clique ain't drunk and high. We're twice baked.
And guess what. We're down for whatever, whatever it might take.

Chorus:
I'm a mothafuckin’ wordsmith.
I can strike anywhere, anytime, like bird shit.
Look up to the sky witness it first person.
Let this wigga rhyme, quick to kick sick verses.
I'm a mothafuckin’ wordsmith.
With a mic in my hand, here I stand so perfect.
Just wanna clear my mind, draw back the curtains.
Open up your mind, let me scratch the surface.

Verse III:
I'm antisocial, mood swingin’ like a rollercoaster.
No wonder my co-workers think that I'm going postal.
One day, I snapped, having a water cooler chat.
Stabbed my boss in the back, twisted the knife twice, and laughed.
Tell a dike, “get some dick in your life.”
Pull down my pants and tickle her wind pipe, with my pickle, aight?
Open wide for this kosher dill. Fuck wavin’ a white flag, bitch , I go for the kill.
One day, I'll quit rap and switch to preaching peace and love.
But until then, I'ma promote hate and catch a decent buzz.
All American, I pledge my allegiance.
But fuck the system, I stick with disobedience.

Chorus (repeat 2x):
I'm a mothafuckin’ wordsmith.
I can strike anywhere, anytime, like bird shit.
Look up to the sky witness it first person.
Let this wigga rhyme, quick to kick sick verses.
I'm a mothafuckin’ wordsmith.
With a mic in my hand, here I stand so perfect.
Just wanna clear my mind, draw back the curtains.
Open up your mind, let me scratch the surface.

I'm a mothafuckin’ wordsmith.
I can strike anywhere, anytime, like bird shit.
Look up to the sky witness it first person.
Let this wigga rhyme, quick to kick sick verses.
I'm a mothafuckin’ wordsmith.
With a mic in my hand, here I stand so perfect.
Just wanna clear my mind, draw back the curtains.
Open up your mind, let me scratch the surface

PT (Partially 'tarded)

Written By: Punch Drunk Munkees

PT (Partially ‘tarded)

Album: E.U.I (Evolving Under the Influence)

©2010 P.D.M. Music Co. All rights reserved.

Intro:
Everyone, put their right hand over your heart, and repeat after me.
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the retarded states of America.”

Verse I:
Alright, I’ll admit, sometimes I tell lies and shit.
Like I kick so much ass I should go see my podiatrist.
I’ll never change though. Dressin’ in plain clothes.
Stressin’ my bank roll. Having sex with a skank hoe.
I’m sorry wifey. I ain’t mean to diss.
You know I’m all delusional while I’m drinking these fifths.
I skeet and miss on your carpet.
No wonder I got 86’d from your apartment. I beg your pardon.
Nah, really, I can’t hear.
It’s like ‘why don’t you shut your fucking mouth?’ I’m turning a deaf ear.
My favorite color’s clear. I like the taste of oxygen.
Don’t turn your back. I might pee in your beer.
Alcohol abuse, spankin’ a bottle of Grey Goose.
Put the tool away. I checked the other day,
my screws ain’t loose.
All these years I spent a recluse.
But now that I’m outta my shell, I’m realizing I didn’t need to.

Bridge:
Oops I farted. I’m partially retarded.

Chorus:
Half man, half amazing.
One part smart son-of-a-bitch,
and one part retardation.
On behalf of a retarded nation, I’d like to say this.
Half man, half amazing.
One part smart son-of-a-bitch,
and one part retardation.
This goes out to a retarded nation, I’d like to say this.

Verse II:
Yo, this doesn’t attack the mentally challenged.
I just wanna ostracize the chemically balanced.
You know the goodie-two-shoesers, who’s outnumbered ten to one
by us druggies and boozers. Majority rules, son,
we ain’t losers.
Shout out to Chrysler, bitch, we’re PT Cruisers.
Who take the easy route, and never leave the house,
glued to the mothership – TV and couch.
Blame my marital spat on trans fat.
Suing McDonalds for asking,
“Do you want fries with that?”
I see shit white and black.
Stuck eternally on this conundrum named Michael Jack.
I run with scissors, so I can’t cut no slack.
All I got’s a butter knife and spork, how can I work with that?
Call me paranoid titties, I’m a nervous rack.
Set my game on fire, and call me Bernie Mac.

Bridge:
Oops I farted. I’m partially retarded.

Chorus:
Half man, half amazing.
One part smart son-of-a-bitch,
and one part retardation.
On behalf of a retarded nation, I’d like to say this.
Half man, half amazing.
One part smart son-of-a-bitch,
and one part retardation.
This goes out to a retarded nation, I’d like to say this.

Verse III:
I got damaged foreskin. Went balls to the wall,
and nailed my junk to the family portrait.
I know it’s absurd. It’s obscene.
But haven’t you heard? It’s just words, not to be took literally.
I burst on the scene, blow my wad in public.
And I ain’t talking about scrilla, fool, you know what I mean?
I floss a knock-off watch, and rock a plated grill,
doing what it takes to make me a couple mil.
Everyone has a price. It’s like ten bucks? Aight,
I’ll roll the dice on hermaphrodite – sike!
There I go, thinking aloud. I’m way shy
during the daytime. Then the sunset comes
and I bug the fuck out.
My fucking wife wants to staple my mouth, scared
when, where and what might find it’s way out.
Some might identify with my death wish. And yes, sir,
I do eat pieces of shit for breakfast.

Bridge:
Oops I farted. I’m partially retarded.

Chorus (2x):
Half man, half amazing.
One part smart son-of-a-bitch,
and one part retardation.
On behalf of a retarded nation, I’d like to say this.
Half man, half amazing.
One part smart son-of-a-bitch,
and one part retardation.
This goes out to a retarded nation, I’d like to say this.

Half man, half amazing.
One part smart son-of-a-bitch,
and one part retardation.
On behalf of a retarded nation, I’d like to say this.
Half man, half amazing.
One part smart son-of-a-bitch,
and one part retardation.
This goes out to a retarded nation, I’d like to say this.

Virgin Mary

Written By: Punch Drunk Munkees

Virgin Mary

Album: E.U.I (Evolving Under the Influence)

©2010 P.D.M. Music Co. All rights reserved.

Verse I:
I was about 17, ditching school with this chick named Mary,
when my doorbell rings and it’s two missionaries.
Asked me if I heard of Jesus or Virgin Mary.
I said “sure, but at this very moment, I just wanna bury a bone.
So, I’m gonna pass on saving my soul.
Maybe try next door I think my neighbor is home.
By the way, where do you get off soliciting?
Don’t you see the sign on the door? I mean it literally.
Take your shirt and tie and nerdy bike,
ride your ass into the sunset. You can’t fix my life.
I’m a mess. That’s how I prefer it.
I don’t need some pathological schmuck to see that I’m imperfect!”
But here comes Superman, and the choose-the-right force.
Homie, I‘ll pull on your cape and drag you off your high horse.
And what gives with the long faces?
I’m pretty God damn sure you don’t want me in your congregation

Chorus:
Virgin Mary in your grilled cheese. Bitch please, bitch please.
Your little sandwich won’t convince me. Bitch please, bitch pleeeaaase.
Show me Jesus in an onion ring. And we’ll see, we’ll see.
Until then, choke on your beliefs. Bitch please, bitch pleeeaaase.

Verse II:
So, you’re raised to believe false gods are substandard.
And I’m supposed to see the fucking Holy Spirit up in your sandwich.
All I see is a nut on religious overdose,
over-thinking a meatball sub with provolone.
But the media gives you 15 minutes or so -
enough rope to hang an ignorant hoe.
Cafeteria sermon, it falls on deaf ears,
to the lunch lady’s chagrin as she sheds tears.
I do fear death and the afterlife, but I’m figure that shit out after life.
So, there’s no sense in tryin’ to reach me now.
Even God-blessin' my sneezes, it freaks me out.
I just wanna be good to believe in Karma,
not be fucking brain-washed with freakish dogma.
Try and convert me, like foreign currency.
Might I suggest neurosurgery?

Chorus:
Virgin Mary in your grilled cheese. Bitch please, bitch please.
Your little sandwich won’t convince me. Bitch please, bitch pleeeaaase.
Show me Jesus in an onion ring. And we’ll see, we’ll see.
Until then, choke on your beliefs. Bitch please, bitch pleeeaaase.

Bridge:
You can’t tell me nothing ‘bout being crazy.
Go look into the mirror, and say what you think.
I’m just an eye witness to a world of belief.
On the outside looking in, guess the joke’s all on me.
What if…
Heavens a myth in the sky?
What if…
Hell is a gift in disguise?
What if…
You’ve been a victim of lies,
empty promise called salvation?
What if…
St. Pete’s a dick and denies you?
What if…
Your nemesis gets to slide through?
What if…
I’m stuck sitting beside you
for eternal damnation?

Chorus (2x):
Virgin Mary in your grilled cheese. Bitch please, bitch please.
Your little sandwich won’t convince me. Bitch please, bitch pleeeaaase.
Show me Jesus in an onion ring. And we’ll see, we’ll see.
Until then, choke on your beliefs. Bitch please, bitch pleeeaaase.

Virgin Mary in your grilled cheese. Bitch please, bitch please.
Your little sandwich won’t convince me. Bitch please, bitch pleeeaaase.
Show me Jesus in an onion ring. And we’ll see, we’ll see.
Until then, choke on your beliefs. Bitch please, bitch pleeeaaase.

To each his own

Written By: Punch Drunk Munkees

To each his own

Album: E.U.I (Evolving Under the Influence)

©2010 P.D.M. Music Co. All rights reserved.

Intro:
Yo, this is my life’s philosophy… 28 years in the making… aight.

Verse I:
I know this don’t fit my description:
educated, four-eyed white boy. But I’m gonna rip shit.
I be around some rich kids,
but ain’t Abercrombie & Fitch.
Y’all can make like some turkeys and gobble a dick.
Fuck what you say to me. ‘Cuz basically,
I don’t intend to be banished.
And before I vanish, fool, you’re paying me.
I’ve been broke too long, taking orders in hell’s kitchen,
cooking the food wrong for you chickens.
I can’t be beat bitches. I can stand the heat bitches.
Farmer’s tan from the spotlight, I just keep spittin’.
I tend to peak interest, drown in my deep writtens.
Clown around in my town, and you’re bound to be deep shittin’.
Pour me a tall Guinness, I’m gonna catch me a buzz.
Long before its all finished, I’ll be throwin’ it up
in the nearest toilet,
wearing the fucking seat like a halo.
Yo, crown me king motherfucker, ‘cuz I say so.

Chorus:
Bang this shit in your Range Rove.
Bob your face to the bass notes.
I give a fuck. Let the critics say I ain’t dope.
Then call me bread winner, and watch this CD raise the dough.
I’m hangin’ on by a thread, homie, yank the rope.
It’s been an uphill climb on a slippery slope.
And little did you know, I’d get so far with one quote.
Guess it’s true what they say, man, to each his own.

Verse II:
Yo, I speak my peace, and probably more than my fair share
I hog the talking stick, and I do not care.
Afraid of sharing air with others.
Preaching population control to a room full of pregnant mothers.
I know this shit is uncalled for. But, in my opinion,
the whole world is doo doo, so I’m par for the course. Ha!
Or maybe birdie. White and nerdy, on a bike with a box of handy wipes.
Cuz shit, I ain’t ridin’ dirty
Went all Timberlake, and stuck my dick in a box.
Now my chick’s head is all square from licking my cock. Ha!
I could be tongue-in-cheek. But I’ll leave tossing salads
to all your raunchy bastards and disgusting freaks.
My momma’s proud of her potty mouth,
but wish she would’ve peed me out in a potty
without a second thought or a body count.
Quick! Somebody get me a key to the city.
Mayor Goodman locked me out.

Chorus:
Bang this shit in your Range Rove.
Bob your face to the bass notes.
I give a fuck. Let the critics say I ain’t dope.
Then call me bread winner, and watch this CD raise the dough.
I’m hangin’ on by a thread, homie, yank the rope.
It’s been an uphill climb on a slippery slope.
And little did you know, I’d get so far with one quote.
Guess it’s true what they say, man, to each his own.

Verse III:
Yo, killer calamity insanity’s back.
I got my jar and my baking soda, cooking some crack,
to give back to my community and make me a stack.
I got it all planned out, homie. The game’s down pat.
What’s that, there’s no room for me the industry’s packed!?!
Well, I’m going in the back entry. Yours truly, in fact.
I don’t blame if you shoot me. I’m snatchin’ your booty.
Plus bangin’ your groupie back stage, it’s my duty.
You’re blowfish, I’m Hootie, signing my autograph on a huge boobie.
My biggest fan’s a floozy.
I crash the who’s who scene in my fucking hoopty.
Snatch your keys from valet, and I mash in a new two-seat.
To each his own, motherfucker… This belly of a beast unknown,
who’s been known to eat his foes. This don’t need to lead to blows.
Unless, of course, you’re getting on your knees hoe…

Chorus (2x):
Bang this shit in your Range Rove.
Bob your face to the bass notes.
I give a fuck. Let the critics say I ain’t dope.
Then call me bread winner, and watch this CD raise the dough.
I’m hangin’ on by a thread, homie, yank the rope.
It’s been an uphill climb on a slippery slope.
And little did you know, I’d get so far with one quote.
Guess it’s true what they say, man, to each his own.

Bang this shit in your Range Rove.
Bob your face to the bass notes.
I give a fuck. Let the critics say I ain’t dope.
Then call me bread winner, and watch this CD raise the dough.
I’m hangin’ on by a thread, homie, yank the rope.
It’s been an uphill climb on a slippery slope.
And little did you know, I’d get so far with one quote.
Guess it’s true what they say, man, to each his own.

Blowout

Written By: Punch Drunk Munkees

Blowout

Album: E.U.I (Evolving Under the Influence)

©2010 P.D.M. Music Co. All rights reserved.

Intro:
Uh, Malone… Can I, uh, see you in my office for a second?
Yeah, sure man. What’s up?
Uh… you know. I’ve been noticing some, some things lately I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.
No man, hold up I got something to say to you… you, you just hold on hold on. Me first.
(door slam)
Uhhh, okay. Go right ahead.
First off, you’re the fuck-up. Not me. You think I’m incompetent? Where the fuck do you get your ideas
from? I hate you. I hate this job. Fuck all this bullshit. I’m about to blow out! Gaaawwd … Bitch!

Verse I:
Feels like my whole existence is my nine-to-five.
Boss signs my checks, but don’t know I’m alive.
Poppin’ these pills so I can sleep at night.
Roof above my head is barely peace of mind.
if only I could get some peace and quiet,
in my soul, maybe I too could be a decent guy.
American dream has left me high and dry.
So I’m coppin’ out. I’m droppin’ out. Fuck your college try.

Bridge:
You say, I ain’t giving my all.
And you, you keep on trying my patience.
But you, you’ll be the one who falls.
‘Cuz I, I will no longer take this.

Chorus:
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
So take this job, and shove it, and suck my dick.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
You got me living in poverty while you get rich.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
Before I put you in a coffin, I’m just gonna quit.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
So take this job, and shove it, and suck my dick.

Verse II:
I never thought I’d grow up to be this.
Visions of heroism or getting rich.
But instead of fightin’ fires, I fight this.
This constant urge not to clench my fist.
Not scrubbing toilets, but I’m taking shit.
And so much, it’s got me contemplating slitting my wrist.
So, either I can let you get me pissed,
and hold me under. But I’m nowhere to be found.
I won’t go down with this ship.

Bridge:
You say, I ain’t giving my all.
And you, you keep on trying my patience.
But you, you’ll be the one who falls.
‘Cuz I, I will no longer take this.

Chorus:
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
So take this job, and shove it, and suck my dick.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
You got me living in poverty while you get rich.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
Before I put you in a coffin, I’m just gonna quit.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
So take this job, and shove it, and suck my dick.

Verse III:
My career plagues me like a sickness.
God as my witness,
this 9-to-5 is the bane of my existence.
And to think, I went to college and all
just to get right here. Man, that’s where I went wrong.
Shots of liquor, and beer, and sleep medicine
barely numb the intimidation and fear I feel on the regular.
I only put you on a pedestal, hopin’ you’ll dive off, and die off
like the dinosaurs.
No holds barred, embrace my cynical rage
with both arms in exchange for your minimum wage.
I hope there’s no hard feelings, no surprises.
Put you on notice, you cunt, you woke a sleeping giant.

Chorus (2x):
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
So take this job, and shove it, and suck my dick.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
You got me living in poverty while you get rich.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
Before I put you in a coffin, I’m just gonna quit.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
So take this job, and shove it, and suck my dick.

I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
So take this job, and shove it, and suck my dick.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
You got me living in poverty while you get rich.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
Before I put you in a coffin, I’m just gonna quit.
I wanna blow out, I can’t take this shit.
So take this job, and shove it, and suck my dick.

Discography

The band's debut album is titled "E.U.I. (Evolving under the influence)", in honor of the meandering, inebriated artistic process that led to the final product, which contained a total of 13 tracks.

Set List

Our typical set list is about 45 minutes in duration, and includes the following nine songs off our debut album E.U.I. (Evolving under the influence):

- Wordsmith
- Caveman
- Just can't help it
- Virgin Mary
- Blowout
- Fugly
- PT (Partially 'tarded)
- To each is own
- Pedophile