Go Back Home Where You Came From.

A Cold Wind Blew On The Prairie On The Day The Last Buffalo Fell. A Death Wind For My People.

Now That We Are Poor, We Are Free. No White Man Controls Our Footsteps.

Inside Of Me There Are Two Dogs. One Is Mean And Evil And The Other Is Good And They Fight Each Other All The Time. When Asked Which One Wins I Answer, The One I Feed The Most.

Strangely Enough, They Have A Mind To Till The Soil, And The Love Of Possessions Is A Disease In Them.

What White Man Can Say I Never Stole His Land Or A Penny Of His Money? Yet They Say That I Am A Thief.