Alternative to an Altered Native
not a young brave any more cause puberty
passed me long agooo.
I'm a Noble savage, here I goo Geronimooooo.
I don't have a horse, its the modern age of fast
cars and aero planes.
Asphalt is beneath my feet, all they way to the
So I jumped into my Thunderbird, in pursuit of my
It was a Walt Disney Pocahontus, my Barbie doll
But going the other way in a Pontiac she drove
Her father, the Grand Chief was on my tail in his
He ran me off the road, there was nothing I could
Along came a Winnabago on the pow wow
With a little hope and good luck on my side.
They were going my way so I hitched a ride.
I also hoped I'd happen upon her down the road.
But the Trickster was at the wheel, everything
was on hold.
They took a detour to see a few ball games
"The Atlanta Braves are up against the Red
again I didn't have a say.
"While we're at it", I added, "let's get the
and the Kansas City Chiefs and go up to Indiana to watch the
Black Hawks chase the Buffalo Sabers down
across the plains."
We might just meet up with my Indian maiden
wearing a Black Robe,
dancing with wolves, buffalo or some cowboy full
But luck wasn't quit on my side, she would not be
my bride, at least that day.
So we went to the Indianapolis 500
then to the Indian world series
chopping, scalping all the way.
I didn't ever find my maiden fair with long black
hair but that was okay,
cause the Braves and the Red Skins were
cousins to the Chiefs and Indians their way
and second cousins twice removed to the Black
Hawks up my way.
Now every summer you can see them, they all
mount their ponies;
Pintos and Pontiac, Cherokees and Cheyennes,
Cougars and Comanches,
Thunderbirds and Sunbirds, Mustangs and
and they head south to the open plains for a
Plymouth Sundance with its Shadow.
As for me I don't speak my mother's tongue, she
She speaks with a forked tongue when she is
Bokshkaa and can't go to the Bingo.
With me the youngest of her tribe of seven
children, the low man on the totem pole,
I got to help her out with $hoonya.
Growing up with seven brothers and sisters there
was always too many chiefs
and not enough Indians. Someone were always
on the war path wanting to scalp the other.
But we'd bury the hatchet when mom won big at
the bingo cause we're blood,
we're Anishnaabe, kind beings, real Indian
we share. Want some?