A.L.T


One Little Indian Lyrics

A.L.T., will you tell me a story about indians*

One little, two little, three little indians
Four little, five little, six little indians
Seven little, eight little, nine little indians
Ten little indians gone

Tisk-it a task-it, task-it to tusk-it
One little indian, run from the musket
Head for the hills and make it pronto
Don't believe that B.S.
You heard about a pale face and Tonto
Many many troops came in blue suits
Stomp a little child's head
Til he's dead with them big black boots
Raid, then pillage
A teepee village
But here comes the tomahawk, jackin' up a cowboy
This means war
A test for the west
Had to put a arrow in the Pony Express
I had a vision of a eagle in flight
I speak the least hype, put out the peace pipe
But the white man came, thick as syrup
Thousands and thousands, they mailed in from Europe

Now they wanna be a friend again
Damn
Forget it
And run, little indian

Here comes the calvary, send the white man in
How can you compare a arrow with a cannon
Buffalo Bill's, eyes filled with hatred
History updated
Let me say what they did
They brought many men on the back, of a horse
Shoot another buffalo cause that's the main food source
That made the indian's eyes filled with tears
But for years, all you thought a cowboy did was rope steers
Let's play cowboys and indians, it's sad, why
Cause the indian was always the bad guy
But in reality
Yo, it had to be
The pale face that took the territory
But that's only history
In your schoolbooks
See
They talk about a tree, but I still call 'em all crooks

"In any war
Once you've read your history books
You can
Read the indian wars
Such and such, just, it's listed in your history
And
But when you lose the battle
Or lose a war
Why then, you have to suffer the consequences
They're conquered people"

Run
Indian, head for the mountains
If nel Custard comes around, then you scalp 'em
Or fly another arrow with the flame on the tip
Flip the cap back
Down, Mr. C's on the dead tip
They gave
In return for tomahawks, not just some gold rocks
A wise man had a vision
A thought of reservation
It was one stop short of a prison
Tax free, that's the apology
Anthropology shows the truth
But they still won't acknowledge me
The green land with the beach filled with white sand
Now has a freeway controlled by a white man
As I look up
Disgust, only how, it's me
Plus Chris Columbus gets credit for discovery

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