Introduction

“Kung Fu Fighting” is a musical masterpiece that has left an indelible mark on the world of pop culture. Sung by the talented artist Carl Douglas, this iconic song catapulted to fame in 1974 and has remained a timeless classic, celebrated by generations of music enthusiasts.Everybody was Kung Fu Citing | The Tai Chi Notebook

Did You Know?

Did you know that Carl Douglas, a Jamaican-born British singer, and songwriter, found inspiration for “Kung Fu Fighting” from his love for martial arts? The song was a part of his album “Kung Fu Fighting and Other Great Love Songs.” Surprisingly, Douglas originally intended it to be a B-side, but it quickly overshadowed the intended A-side, proving its irresistible charm. This song wasn’t just a hit; it became a global phenomenon, topping charts in over 30 countries and selling over 11 million copies worldwide.

The infectious beat and catchy lyrics captured the hearts of people across the globe, making it a dance floor favorite and an anthem for martial arts enthusiasts. Over the years, “Kung Fu Fighting” has been featured in countless movies, TV shows, and commercials, solidifying its place in pop culture history.Kung Fu Fighting — Carl Douglas's 1974 hit capitalised on the martial arts craze — FT.com

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Lyrics: Kung Fu Fighting

Oh-hoh-hoh-hoah
Oh-hoh-hoh-hoah
Oh-hoh-hoh-hoah
Oh-hoh-hoh-hoah

[Chorus:]
Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting
Those kids were fast as lightning
In fact, it was a little bit frightening
But they fought with expert timing

There were funky China men from funky Chinatown
They were chopping them up
They were chopping them down
It’s an ancient Chinese art
And everybody knew their part
From a feigning to a slip
And a kickin’ from the hip

Everybody was Kung Fu fighting
Those kids were fast as lightning
In fact it was a little bit frightening
But they fought with expert timing

There was funky Billie Chin and little Sammy Chong
He said, here comes the big boss, let’s get it on
We took the bow and made a stand
Started swaying with the hand
A sudden motion made me skip
Now we’re into a brand new trip

Everybody was Kung Fu fighting
Those kids were fast as lightning
In fact it was a little bit frightening
But they did it with expert timing

Oh-hoh-hoh-hoh, ha
Oh-hoh-hoh-hoh, ha
Oh-hoh-hoh-hoh-ha
Keep on, keep on, keep on
Sure enough

Everybody was Kung Fu fighting
Those kids were fast as lightning
In fact it was a little bit frightening
Make sure you have expert timing
Kung Fu fighting, had to be fast as lightning…

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SHE HAD BEEN SINGING MOUNTAIN MUSIC SINCE BEFORE BLUEGRASS EVEN HAD A NAME. THEN, AT 80, WILMA LEE COOPER COLLAPSED ON THE OPRY STAGE WITH THE SONG STILL IN HER THROAT. Wilma Lee Cooper came out of Valley Head, West Virginia, where music was not something you studied in a conservatory. It was family. Church. Radio. Coal-country evenings. Her father worked in the mines. Her mother played pump organ. Wilma started singing when she was five, then sang with her family gospel group before she ever became part of country music history. She met Stoney Cooper in the early 1940s. He played fiddle. She sang and played guitar. Together they built a sound that sat between mountain gospel, old-time string band music, and the country music that had not yet decided how polished it wanted to become. They did not wait for genre labels. They drove. They broadcast. They played wherever people would listen. The roads were part of the act. Their daughter Carol Lee sometimes slept in the car under the upright bass while Wilma and Stoney went from show to show. They raised a family while keeping a band alive. They recorded songs like “Big Midnight Special,” “There’s a Big Wheel,” and “Wreck on the Highway.” By 1957, they had joined the Grand Ole Opry. The Smithsonian later called Wilma Lee the “First Lady of Bluegrass.” But that title came after decades of work. It came after she and Stoney had already spent years carrying the mountain sound through a country business that was moving toward smoother voices and cleaner suits. Then Stoney died in 1977. Wilma Lee did not leave with him. She stayed with the Opry. She kept leading the Clinch Mountain Clan. The old mountain voice remained onstage, older now but still carrying the same hard edge. She had already sung for more than sixty years by the time she walked onto the Ryman Auditorium stage on February 24, 2001. She was eighty. During that performance, Wilma Lee suffered a stroke. The career ended there. Not in a retirement announcement. Not in a farewell special. Onstage, in the place where she had kept the old sound alive for generations. The illness affected her speech and voice, and doctors doubted she would walk again. But Wilma Lee did return once more. In 2010, at the reopening of the Opry House after the Nashville flood, she came back for a group sing-along. Not to reclaim the old career. Not to prove anything. Just to stand in the room one more time and thank the people who had carried her. For most of her life, Wilma Lee Cooper sang as if the mountain had come down from West Virginia and entered the microphone. Her last great silence came on the same stage where she had spent decades refusing to let that mountain disappear.