Why do they hunt us, Why?
Why do they want our skin?
It looks better on ME, than on THEM.
They use these big boomers called "guns."
And they've killed many of our sons.
I don't see how they can find us;
We can smell them a mile away.
They sneek up on us;
while we're sleeping the day away.
I wish the Indians would drive them out;
But, oh, the white man guns are stout!
We're gonna have to get used to having them about.