On the crest of the hill they stand. 
The proud and noble Red Man. 
So called civilization down below. 
When it came, they had to go! 
A blanket for their arrows, 
hard shoes for their feet. 
After all was said and done, 
there was little left to eat. 
The buffalo that had gave them life, 
so senselessly slaughtered through hate and strife. 
Mother Earth that had met their every need, 
snatched away by unkept promises, lies and greed. 
No longer free to roam abound. 
The people lost their sacred ground. 
Even their native tongue was to cease. 
They had to give all for the white man's peace. 
So many paid the ultimate price. 
Their homes, their ways, their very lives. 
Yet on the crest of the hill they stand, 
Still Proud! Still Noble! Still the Red Man!