There once was an Indian maid
Who always was afraid
That some buckaroo
Would fly around and fool
While she lay sleeping in the shade.
She had an idea grand
She filled it up with sand
To keep the boys
From forbidden joys
In Red Wing's promised land
cho: Oh, the Moon 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.
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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.
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
cho: Oh the clouds go floating over Red Wing
As she lays snoring
Her life is boring
Why she'd even welcome Hermann Goering
Into the pleasure of her promised land.
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