Lyrics:
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There once was an Indian maid
Who always was afraid
That some buckeroo might fly it up her flue
As she lay sleeping in the shade.
She had an idea grand, she'd fill it up with sand
To keep the boys from forbidden joys
In Red Wing's promised land.
And the moon shone bright on little Red Wing
As she lay sleeping This buck came creeping
With his one good eye he was a-peeping
He hoped to reach her promised land.
Now he was an Indian wise,
He reached for Red Wing's thighs
With an old rubber boot on the end of his toot
He made poor Red Wing open up her eyes
But when she came to life she grabbed her Bowie knife
It flashed in the sky as she let it fly
And shortened his love life.
Oh, the Moon shines down on pretty Red Wing
As she lays snoring. Her knife adoring;
Why, no longer do the braves come whoring,
They won't pay the price of the Promised Land.
Oh, girls if you want to be wives,
Put away those knives;
Boys like to play for a fling in the hay,
But they don't want to pay the rest of their lives.
Mind what mama said, If you're lyin' in your bed,
If you can't behave, don't reach for a blade;
Have a hell of a time instead.
Oh, the clouds go floatin' over Red Wing,
As she lay snoring, her life is boring;
Why she'd even welcome Hermann Goering
Into the pleasure of her promised land.
(And the moon shines bright on little Red Wing
And in the morning
There hung a warning -
A pair of cowboy's balls adorning
The flip-flap of Red Wing's tepee.)
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