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 need.

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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