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
And 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
You can not use a pen
The only way is with a knife when danger is your friend
Some may call it stupid
And 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

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