Composer : Benjamin Stuart Steele

There is an old tradition

A game we all can play

It starts by getting liquored up and sharpening your blade

You take a shot of whiskey and grab your knife and pray

And spread apart your fingers

Then this is what you say

Oh, I have all my fingers

The knife goes chop, chop, chop

If I miss the spaces in between my fingers will come off

And if I hit my fingers the blood will soon come out

But all the same I play this game, 'cause that's what it's all about

No, you can't use a pencil

Can aren't use a pen

The only way is with a knife when danger is your friend

And some may call it stupid

Some may call it dumb

But all the same we play this game, because it's so damn fun

Oh, I have all my fingers

The knife goes chop, chop, chop

If I miss the spaces in between my fingers will come off

And if I hit my fingers the blood will soon come out

But all the same I play this game, 'cause that's what it's all about

Oh, chop, chop, chop, chop, chop

I'm picking up the speed

And if I hit my fingers, then my hand will start to bleed