You're the
Censorious
Calamity Jane
Encased in buckhide
Firing six shooters
At random flakes of bird
Eyed cavalry
Your Buffalo father
Is a mountain peak
Your Buffalo mother
Is a yell or a scream
In the woods
Of snow, winter
Blood trails are left
As you run from the Blackfeet
An octagon barrel is pointed your way
But you are gone in a flash
You're Found days later eating maize
And drinking the white mans liquor
Burning your insides
In a saloon in Billings
And playing cards for silver
