Coyne
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 (x3) 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 (x4) 
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 excelent 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 (x3)