Ian Tyson - The Renegade lyrics

rate me

Upon the hillside

Policemen were climbing

The ghosts of the nightwind

Their fantasies to tell

Dark on the snow

Where the blood drops a-drying

Slipped through cold fingers

Whiskey bottle fell

Ha-how-ya, mother

I leave you with your whiteman

I curse their church that tells us

That our fathers were wrong

And I'll hunt my own mowich

And I'll drink my own whiskey

And I'll sing until morning

The old-fashioned song

Fires of the potlatch

Are all scattered in their ashes

Ma-sat-chie-ta-ma-now-wits

The evil ones remain

And our children cannot follow

The old nor the new ways

And the poles of their fathers

Are rotting in the rain

Ha-how-ya, mother

I leave you with your white man

I curse their church that tells us

That our fathers were wrong

And I'll hunt my own mowich

And I'll drink my own whiskey

And I'll sing until morning

The old-fashioned song

Daylight came late

Over high coastal mountains

The renegade stood watching

With his rifle by his side

Then, he emptied his gun

Up into the pale yellow sunrise

And he ran down the hillside

To the place where he died

Ha-how-ya, mother

I leave you with your white man

I curse their church that tells us

That our fathers were wrong

And I'll hunt my own mowich

And I'll drink my own whiskey

And I'll sing until morning

The old-fashioned song

Thanks to badgerlady for correcting these lyrics

Thanks to nighthawk for correcting these lyrics