Lyrics:
on the
beauties and treasures of lots civilisations, Indian, Chinese, Central
American, Atlantean. These and other people left an immense treasure of
knowledge.
West Indians, black Americans
West Indians, black Americans
West Indians, black Americans
West Indians, black Americans
You know where we are
finally open (chaaaaa)
outta the UFO's come thousands of 100 foot native american indians?!
We're gonna be watching like.. FUCK those are huge indians
and listed to trees talk
A Good Ol' Boy breaking bread with the Miwok's
We passed the pipe and we started the peace talks
Cowboy's and Indians, American made
On reservations
A hopeless situation
Respect is something that you earn
Our Indian brothers' getting burned
Original American
Turned into a second class citizen
you calm down now, it's hardly tasteless
Nothing against the Indians, it's just good business
Guns and steel and a funeral pyre
Pave the way for
tarnished now,
You know it was just a young man's dream.
And old man's tales are hard to reach when you
Don't believe in your American Dream.
The Indians,
fighting man
Who is free and white and bigot
Gets his courage from a spigot
And protects his racial purity the
Very best he can the Indians, the Indians
They
They were married in September back in 1969
They travelled, these two Indians,
To find some peace of mind
They stood for love and freedom
They
Yo yo oh
Red skins Indians
Indians red skins native Americans
Indians red skins native Americans
Red skins Indians
Red skins in the house man
Red
are still gettin' pushed to the back
Puerto-Ricans gettin' dissed the same
Won't speak on the Indians, shit's insane
Fuck John Wayne
I don't hate
American, I'm all that
Yes I was born in America true
Does South Central
Look like America to you?
I'm a nigga, a straight up nigga
From a hard school
where she was sent by her Uncle Sam
The Native American Indians, The
Blacks, the yellow, the white
All shed red blood for the stars and stripes
And in her
In 1974, I went to Mexico to visit my brother who was working as an anthropologist with Tsutsil Indians, the last surviving Mayan tribe.
My name is Jackson Jameson, a coal miner by trade
From a part of Pennsylvania even Jesus couldn't save
With towns named after Indian chiefs
sun, Turned Red as tomatoes
Roosevelt, His American, Oppressive, Style
Recruited, West Indians, To South America foul
Unpaid construction, Of Panama's
An American Landscape
I look out on an American Landscape
And see the past that you can’t escape
Built on blood and toil
On internal wars
doesn’t quite seem
To fit into their Cadillac dream
But I don’t share their bloody minds
Bout the native American child
Red red Indian drums can’t you hear
I'm Central American like the macaw
Indigenous lineage shooter from Honduras
Grippin' the fusca trucha with these J. Edgar Hoovers
Pre-Hispanic savage
The jungle fever of South Central
South/ Central America
Columbia
Nicaragua
El Salvador
L.A.
The watusi of American
presidents, drug lords
for the CIA
(minor), not nebraska, electricity
We're Americans, not indians, not russians
Put us down we'll blow you off the map
In a flash of hot water from the tap
There were seven little Indians
Living in a brick house on
Central Avenue
Gathered 'round their daddy
Tellin' stories in the living room
From
doesn’t quite seem
To fit into their Cadillac dream
But I don’t share their bloody minds
Bout the native American child
Red red Indian drums can’t you hear
built
How the indigenous don't belong here
I'm Talking Indian, Native American. No
Not from India
Give an inch, then they take an inch
Time to die this
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