Bad Indian

Not a very good Indian Maybe even a bad Indian My cheekbones aren't high enough My last name isn't a sentence I don't have enough bead-work or turquoise and I don't speak good pidgin English Certainly not as good as Johnny Depp did in that movie that one time And I don't care if you connect with Indian spiritualism I could care less if you did a sweat lodge With your Caucasian spirit guide, who knew an Indian once Sure, millions of Indians died, but tell me about your feelings And cry your white tears I'm just gonna be over here being a bad Indian A woman once asked me my Indian name And I said "It's Gregg" And she was so disappointed, she was like, no It has to be Red Eagle or Two Rivers Or Grey Skull I said, "Yes, wait, is that for real?" "No, no" I said, without her realizing my brief But generationally relevant He-Man joke The kind of joke that would tell her that while Indian I'm also having an American experience too I finally said to her, "How about Walking Eagle" And she said, "Yes, but is that true?" I said "Yes, it's totally true" And I never had the heart to tell her that The only time an eagle walks Is when it's too full of shit to fly 'Cause I'm a bad Indian This one time a man walked into my space And he asked me, some questions about my things I tell him When he suddenly interrupts me, as only a white man can With all the Euro-swagger of a man Whose people where so sure of their place in the universe Their place in the world, their place in the eyes of God You speak real good for a Native American An Indian, a savage A pagan, a prairie nig– A godless heathen And I would be justified in punching him And I would be justified In cursing him out And I would be justified calling him a racist But that would make me a bad Indian Which contradicts that old saying You know the one The only good Indian, is a dead Indian Well, I'm a bad Indian And I'm here