there was a squaw, a very sad squaw
who cried as she cursed at the sky
the gods had reclaimed her only son
and nobody could tell her why
there was a chief a very wise chief who told her
we’ll find where he roamed
we’ll put out some signs on the highway
and bring the young falling rock home
it’s not a bar in Wyoming
it’s not brewed in the north p.a. mills
it’s just a young brave
who wandered from camp
and ventured too far in the hills
you’ll see a sign on the roadside
like the sign on the blueridge parkway
look out for falling rock, at large in
the u.s. of a, at large in the u.s. of a
there was a letter from the gov’ner
a visit from the park service man
socialist lawyers and eagle scouts said
we’re doin bout all that we can
stories can turn into legends
folklore’s derived from a claim
but no one can answer the puzzling sign
and the young Indian name
Chorus
some say they’ve seen him
homeless in phoenix
picking up all he could scrounge
some say they’ve seen him doing the
king weekend at a jfk lounge
some swear that he was rapping with
phil about the abuse of his tribe
and some say he sits in a Washington
pen for passing a state trooper bribes
Chorus
Mike Clem © 1993 J. Fish Music/ASCAP