Yeah, they call him the Karate King Chopping children down like trees Bringing cows to their knees Making their udders bleed Now they call him the Karate King Top of the shop in his robe Nothing there can grow When he's around Going chop, chop Going chop, chop Going chop, chop Down in the gymnasium They call him the Karate King Like a bird on a wing Standing posing at the window At the door in his vest His white and muscled flexing at all the passing girls Smashing his way through the window frames Ripping apart his mother's pearls They're dying on the dressing table Chop, chop Chop, chop Chop, chop Chop, chop So if you see the Karate King Help him, help him Maybe you'll tie, tie his shoe laces Come on, come on, comment on his pomaded hair Tell him he would have been an excellent Kamikaze pilot in the Second World War 'Cause that's what he wants to hear That's what he wants to hear in the gymnasium Chop, chop Chop, chop Chop, chop