a little cake?-----

"Indian Outlaw"

I'm an Indian outlaw
Half Cherokee and Choctaw
My baby she's a Chippewa
She's one of a kind

All my friends call me Bear Claw
The Village Cheaftin' is my paw-paw
He gets his orders from my maw-maw
She makes him walk the line

You can find me in my wigwam
I'll be beatin' on my tom-tom
Pull out the pipe and smoke you some
Hey and pass it around

'Cause I'm an Indian outlaw
Half Cherokee and Choctaw
My baby she's a Chippewa
She's one of a kind

I ain't lookin' for trouble
We can ride my pony double
Make your little heart bubble
Lord, Like a glass of wine

I remember the medicine man
He caught runnin' water in my hands
Drug me around by my headband
Said I wasn't her kind

Cause I'm an Indian outlaw
Half Cherokee and Choctaw
My baby she's a Chippewa
She's one of a kind

I can kill a deer or buffalo
With just my arrow and my hickory bow
>From a hundred yards don't you know
I do it all the time

They all gather 'round my teepee
Late at night tryin' to catch a peek at me
In nothin' but my buffalo briefs
I got 'em standin' in line

Cause I'm an Indian outlaw
Half Cherokee and Choctaw
My baby she's a Chippewa
She's one of a kind

Cherokee people
Cherokee tribe
So proud to live
So proud to die


a little bread?----

All rise, behold the famous disappearing man
Who comes in crimson robes but leaves in yellow rags
Hear now his ancient call to union
And the furious communion of the maiden and the stag

In the dark, in the dawn, with your wedding dress in tatters
You reveal the yearning desert in the country of your skin
How you ache for the fawn, and he says it doesn't matter
But it does and he's gone, and you know that he won't be back again

Long now he's borne his heavy armor resting
Only in his sorrows and his noble-nosed regrets
Some light, some momentary solace
And he'll ride off gay and lawless as the moment that you met

So the night comes and goes, and there's no one there to nurture
But yourself and you know that you've nothing left to lose
Will you stand in the road waiting for another searcher
Will you weep soft and low in the voice that your mother used to use

Springtime the swain came green and hero like
A friendly gypsy storm on tender lilies, hale and blaze
Late fall, the boatman rowed you grimly
Down a canyon dark and empty in a stale and dreary haze

At the end of the year when the cliffs rise up behind you
And the stream runs in circles from the chasm to the core
And the sun comes in tears 'cause the gardener did not find you
Will you bloom bright and fierce, will you know you don't need him anymore


sorry...I couldn't resist.

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