Way up in South Dakota legislators passed a law
To make the Indian reservations state land forever more,
Cattle barons gave the orders for they controlled the vote
And no one in the Capital would dare to rock the boat.
But them Indians got no war whoop any more, any more
No them Indians got no war whoop any more.
It's all right to ravage the defenseless savage
Cause them Indians got no war whoop any more.
Now there was one way to stop this, with 14.000 names
But the white men were not frightened, like Custer of ill fame
They never thought the Indian would organize
"They never have, they never will, it'll be a great surprise."
But them Indians got no war whoop any more, any more
No them Indians got no war whoop any more.
It's all right to ravage the defenseless savage
Cause them Indians got no war whoop any more.
The Indians fought with pens and pencils, just 14.000 strong
They threw it into referendum and it didn't take 'em long
The Indians took the saddle, as they did in days of yore
Now they're frightened at the Capital 'cause the Indians want no war.
But them Indians got no war whoop any more, any more
No them Indians got no war whoop any more.
It's all right to ravage the defenseless savage
Cause them Indians got no war whoop any more.
Now in every Indian nation and in every Indian tribe
Indian hearts stand up to sing of South Dakota's pride
All across America the red man has found out
As long as he is organized the thieves are all in rout
Oh the Indians got no war whoop
(we checked with the Harvard Department of Anthropology and they told us)
Oh, the Indians got no war whoop, anymore
It's all right to ravage the defenseless savage
Cause them Indians got no war whoop any more.
[End with war whoop]
To make the Indian reservations state land forever more,
Cattle barons gave the orders for they controlled the vote
And no one in the Capital would dare to rock the boat.
But them Indians got no war whoop any more, any more
No them Indians got no war whoop any more.
It's all right to ravage the defenseless savage
Cause them Indians got no war whoop any more.
Now there was one way to stop this, with 14.000 names
But the white men were not frightened, like Custer of ill fame
They never thought the Indian would organize
"They never have, they never will, it'll be a great surprise."
But them Indians got no war whoop any more, any more
No them Indians got no war whoop any more.
It's all right to ravage the defenseless savage
Cause them Indians got no war whoop any more.
The Indians fought with pens and pencils, just 14.000 strong
They threw it into referendum and it didn't take 'em long
The Indians took the saddle, as they did in days of yore
Now they're frightened at the Capital 'cause the Indians want no war.
But them Indians got no war whoop any more, any more
No them Indians got no war whoop any more.
It's all right to ravage the defenseless savage
Cause them Indians got no war whoop any more.
Now in every Indian nation and in every Indian tribe
Indian hearts stand up to sing of South Dakota's pride
All across America the red man has found out
As long as he is organized the thieves are all in rout
Oh the Indians got no war whoop
(we checked with the Harvard Department of Anthropology and they told us)
Oh, the Indians got no war whoop, anymore
It's all right to ravage the defenseless savage
Cause them Indians got no war whoop any more.
[End with war whoop]
Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2015/8/11 - 10:29
Il brano che chiude “On The Warpath”, canzone in morte del padre di Peter, Oliver La Farge, cui è dedicato l’intero album.
FATHER, OH MY FATHER
Is it dim burning low
Is it dark burning slow
Has it gone from your reach
You war eagle of speech
Father, oh my father
The torch you lit burns high
And the trumpet beacons of freedom char the sky
Is it far where you're gone
Is it still falling long
Has it gone from your eyes
Your war Indian cries
Father, oh my father
The torch you lit burns high
And the trumpet beacons of freedom char the sky
Is it soft last the bed
Is it hard lyin' dead
Has it gone from your side
The freedom and pride
Father, oh my father
The torch you lit burns high
And the trumpet beacons of freedom char the sky
Is it dim burning low
Is it dark burning slow
Has it gone from your reach
You war eagle of speech
Father, oh my father
The torch you lit burns high
And the trumpet beacons of freedom char the sky
Is it far where you're gone
Is it still falling long
Has it gone from your eyes
Your war Indian cries
Father, oh my father
The torch you lit burns high
And the trumpet beacons of freedom char the sky
Is it soft last the bed
Is it hard lyin' dead
Has it gone from your side
The freedom and pride
Father, oh my father
The torch you lit burns high
And the trumpet beacons of freedom char the sky
Bernart Bartleby - 2015/8/11 - 10:37
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Parole e musica di Peter LaFarge (1931-1965)
Nel disco intitolato “On The Warpath”
Nel leggere il testo di questa canzone bisogna tenere in conto che l’intero album è dedicato ad Oliver La Farge (1901-1963), padre di Peter (il cui vero nome era Oliver Albee), antropologo e scrittore che dedicò tutta la sua vita allo studio della civiltà olmeca e alla difesa della cultura e dei diritti dei nativi americani.
Oliver La Farge fu per molti anni presidente dell’Association on American Indian Affairs, organizzazione non profit che dal 1922 promuove ogni iniziativa volta all’autodeterminazione dei popoli nativi di America ed Alaska.