Texty: Horse The Band. Murder.

The blood of this family mingles
With the clay in this stinking riverbed
I tie the boy down and tear his mother's gown
It's OK, she's already dead

I'll sell the boy and the horses
To the snake you cannot see
I cut open the white man
And take from his woman too
If it were up to me
All the white faces would bleed
And bleed, and bleed, and bleed
It's truth