I’ve heard the experts saying

A thing not many know

That in the year of 1850

There were 60 million buffalo.

The Indians killed them with bow and arrow

Just enough for their needs

The white man killed them by the million

To satisfy his greed.


Thirty years on, there were five thousand

Hunters and buffalo skinners

The Indians and the buffalo were the losers

There were no long term winners

The white man killed the buffalo

And killed the Indians too

He has no shame for what he did

Retribution is overdue.


  Well may you weep, well may you cry

 About the way the buffalo died

So you could sit here placing bets

 On Cherokee poker and roulette

Jokers wild and aces high

Don’t think about the reasons why

The buffalo herds are no more

The blame is firmly at your door.


Now the Indians’ tribal lands

Have all been given back

And in the Mohawk casinos

They deal from different pack

All the rich fat greedy tourists

Think the situation is a laugh

But a hundred overweight gamblers

Are worth less than a buffalo calf

And the money rolls in from the poker

From the roulette wheel and the slots

As the white man blanks out the memory

Of what should never be forgot.


  This is where the buffalo

Once roamed wild and free

You can weep if you will for the memory

 Of how things used to be

And shed a tear for the thousand or so

Which is all that now remain

Of the millions killed by the white man

All done in money’s name.


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