Indian Removal Act

Oh,
Well hello Mr. Andrew Jackson.
How’s that collection of belts?
You know, the ones made from the skin
Of my ancestors.
I thought they might be wearing down by now
What say we dig up the rest of your bones?
And drag you across the twelve hundred miles of tears
You know, that wonderful trail, full of water
And fruit.
I know you meant well
But I got this new pick-up, and I really want to show you
Some of that beautiful country that
You haven’t seen for so long.
Here let me grab this leg
And tie it to my hitch.
Yeah, that’s better.
I know you aren’t alive
You’re just bones and hair,
So don’t cry.
Yeah, it’s just,
This has to be done.