White man came across the sea he brought us pain and misery. He killed our tribes he killed our creep He took our game for his own neecl. We fought him hard we fought him well Out on the plains we gave him hell. But many came too much for cree oh will we ever be set free. Riding through dustclouds and barren wastes Galloping hard on the plains Chasing the red-skins back to their holes Fighting them at their own game. Murder for freedom the stab in the back Woman and children and cowards attack. ' Run to the hills - run for your lives. Run to the hills - run for your lives. Soldier blue in the barren wastes Hunting and killing their game Raping the woman and wasting the man. The only good indians are tame. Selling them whiskey and taking their gold Enslaving the young and destroying the old. Run to the hills - run for your lives. . .. Run to the hills - run for your lives. . . .
