That Pathetic Injun

In the halls the green cheerleaders are spinnin’
Beneath their feet is a lonely Injun
That the people mocked by making him a gimmick
The feathers sit on top of his head
His skin a light shade of red
Myths and legends are bred
Another victim of manifested destiny
He’s responsible for all the pregnancies
Not like these white teens would be active sexually
That poor Injun with no voice or opinion
Lying beneath the feet of bigots

In the city of Cleveland
A people of genocide have yet to stop bleedin’.
That dirty Injun’s exactly as you perceive him.
A single feather on his scalp
Hitting his mouth as he runs with a bounce.
Blood red skin
With big eyes and a stupid grin
Only God knows where one stereotype ends and the other begins
As the worlds spins, poverty still over takes Pine Ridge
This Injun has yet to close his eyelids
Still he can’t see who’s behind it
nor does he care to stop the violence

Home of the Braves, ATL, home of a Tomahawk craze
Hit your mouth, jig, and spit on a race
Take a moment to erase
A sacred tradition, mock an Inun
Sent out on a mission to make a warrior’s decision
Let the Cowboy keep livin’
or make him as dead as the race he isn’t
Do the Tomahawk, Tomahawk, Tomahawk
Kind of like the robot
but put a little jig and a walk
Don’t forget to whop as you chop
Now you’re a REAL BRAVE
And what does an Injun have to say?

The scoreboard reads 28 to none
The jersey holds a memory of cowboys with guns
Blue and silver
Newspapers say they’re killers
They massacred them there Redskins
Boy, ole, boy, them some nice fine Redskins
Red, yellow, and white jerseys
but the helmet ain’t got no grin
This Injun looks like he could hurt me
The red-brown skin with feathers on his head
Lordy Lord have mercy
Thank God all them pathetic Injuns is dead

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