My Indian friend named White-Cloud
Donned feathers of which he was proud
He danced round the fire
Which proved his desire
To charm the surrounding great crowd.
It was time to make a collection
By selling his lady’s confection
The tourists were hasty
To get something tasty
And were running in every direction.
Now White-Cloud tried to make order
To protect his son and his daughter
He told them to duck
And get into the truck
Took the money and head for the border.