There once was an Indian maid
who al ways was afraid
That some buckaroo would fly
around the flew 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 Redwick's promised land
Oh, the sun shines down
on pretty Red Wing
as she lay sleeping
This buck come creeping,
with his one good eye he was a -peeping
He hoped to reach the promised land.
Now he was an Indian wise,
he reached for Red Wing's thighs,
With an old rubber boot on the end of a toot,
He made poor Red Wing open up her eyes,
But when she'd come 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 lay snoring, her knife adoring,
For 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.
They don't want to pay
the rest of their lives.
Mind what Mama said.
If you're lying in your bed,
if you can't evade,
Don't reach for a blade.
Have a hell of a time instead.
Oh, the clouds go floating
over Red Wing
As she lays snoring
where life is boring.
Why, she'd even welcome
Herman Go ering
Into the pleasure of her promised land.