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. . . .

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