Little Tommy Hawk

I remember Crazy Horse, Cochise, and Sitting Bull;
the Apache Nation, Cherokee, Choctaw, and Sioux.
I respect each of them surviving how it used to be,
living through their “trail of tears,”
staying proud in their misery.

They say, “Little Tommy Hawk beat the tom-tom drum.”
But I tell them I don’t know how.
Smokin’ peace pipe and drinkin’ fire-water,
I’m not invited to the council pow-wow.
They know I’ll paint my face and pick up a gun
before anybody gets my soul.
Don’t want me around to bring the profits down.
They say, “Geronimo, you’ve got to go.”

I was forced to learn their rules
through their form of education.
Attended many of their schools,
but I lived on the reservation.
They gave me a number
to go with my name.
But I’m not a store front Indian,
I will not bear their shame.

It is true I talk their talk,
it’s a tool to help stay free.
I don’t get sore because I’m proud
when someone calls me a “breed.”
I’m also proud of the white man’s blood
that courses through my veins.
I’m not angry at the misinformed,
just those who pull the reins.

It’s not just white but red man too,
and yellow, black, and brown,
who scream about injustice
while they slap their own brother around.
It’s not the color of their skin
that makes them right or wrong;
it’s the fact that they want it all
for the price of just a song.

It’s a fool who believes
only white men dish out hell.
Use your eyes and ears,
all history tells the tale.
Each culture breeds a few
who make up their own rules;
who pacify then spit in the eyes
of those they consider fools.

They say, “Little Tommy Hawk beat the tom-tom drum.”
But I tell them I don’t know how.
Smokin’ peace pipe and drinkin’ fire-water,
I’m not invited to the council pow-wow.
They know I’ll paint my face and pick up a gun
before anybody gets my soul.
Don’t want me around to bring the profits down.

They say, “Geronimo, you’ve got to go.”

“Geronimo, you’ve got to go.”

 

[Another contribution from JW, while I continue to endure medical issues.]

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