Come gather ‘round me young and old
Girls and boys, there’ll be stories told
About the land that taught us to talk
With Mother’s hand we learn to walk
	Travel back in time to the last ice age
	With the Sun’s creation fully engaged
	Spirits and heroes, tricksters and fools
	There’s something for everyone
	I now anoint this play,
	The Buffalo Café

A symphony on waving grass
Was composed by Sun and cast
With characters of wing and fur
Beneath the water, creatures stirred
	Our Creator’s voice was the thunder roll
	All of creation shared one soul
	Spirits and heroes, tricksters and fools
	A spark within everyone
	Nature’s anointed play,
	The Buffalo Café

		Mustangs and eagles weaving circles with the Sun
		They were and still are part of everyone
		I’m looking for the wings to fly
		And hooves to touch the earth
		Where we’ll be free again
		There we can see again
		The home that was known at our birth

So, gather ‘round me young and old
Girls and boys, there’ll be stories told
About the land that taught us to talk
With Mother’s hand we’ll learn to walk
	We’ll travel back in time to the last ice age
	With the Sun’s creation fully engaged
	Spirits and heroes, tricksters and fools
	There’s something for everyone
	I now anoint this play,
	The Buffalo Café

	Nature’s anointed play...
		The Buffalo Café
           	The Buffalo Café
               	The Buffalo Café

               	The Buffalo Café

My name is Adam Old Man’s Son
I’ve seen four hundred springs
I’m what you’d call an oral historian
By nature do I sing
And now it’s time to set the record straight
About John Colter’s run
The tale that spun forth from his lips
Was stitched with buffalo chips

The story of Sir Colter’s run
It happened quite like this
The penalty for trapping sa-we-ta-pi **
For Colter’s pal was swift
But cold lips speak not of why
Or what in truth or lies, 
So ask not why one life was spared
John was freed to advertise

	North of the Country of the Plains Cheyenne
	Out west of the Bands of the Sioux
	We Blackfeet would defend our range
	What else could Old Man’s people do?
	We knew the trickle would become a flood
	If no tales were exchanged
	So we chose to turn him loose
	Wearing nothing but his birthday suit

He stumbled through our cheering camp
The kids threw sticks and bones
It didn’t seem like he had a higher gear
That he could call his own
Then he saw the knife of Beaver Son
Whose parents had been slain
It’s blade was Hudson tungsten
Then Johnny hit the overdrive lane

	North of the Country of the Plains Cheyenne
	Out west of the Bands of the Sioux
	We Blackfeet would defend our range
	What else could Napi’s children do?
	Like a slow jackrabbit, Johnny scampered off
	To the valley of the Elk River sun
	Hot rays braised his bum
	Antelopa lika he dida run

Our minds sometimes scramble
fact with fiction from our dreams
Especially when the tummy
Has been deprived of tasty filling things
Our stumbling, blathering barefoot sign
That we hoped would keep out
Became a frontier hero
It’s enough to make 'Old Man' pout!

	North of the Country of the Plains Cheyenne
	Out west of the Bands of the Sioux
	We Blackfeet would defend our range
	What else could Napi’s children do?
	We knew the trickle would become a flood
	If no tales were exchanged
	So we chose to turn him loose
	Wearing nothing but his birthday suit

	North of the Country of the Plains Cheyenne
	Out west of the Bands of the Sioux
	We Blackfeet were set to defend our range
	What else could Napi’s people do?
	Our barefoot scheme to advertise
	Backfired into HIS STORY
	And to tell the honest truth
	We never should have turned him loose

	You know, we never should'a turned him loose!

**(Blackfeet word for Underwater Person-Beaver)

Faces The Blizzard, faces the storm
Was born on the plains when the ice turned to warmth
A Buffalo Person, the Chief of his kind
With the grass he was aligned

A double-horned headdress, a woolly warm robe
Enveloped a ton of muscle and bone
Bound tight with power with pride to defy
The flesh eater tribes

	Faces the Blizzard, faces the storm
	Was the heart of the circle nature formed
	A covenant born

North to the muskeg, East to the shore
South where the grass falls to desert’s floor
West through the mountain backbone you roamed
Your hooves marked your home

	Faces The Blizzard, faces the storm
	Through your time traveled battles you have honed
	The majesty shown

		As the bloodstained cross of progress
		Lumbered heavy over this land
		Nothing could stand, as it had before
		But for you my black-hooved brother
		Whose flesh through us was reborn
		The cloth of creation is scattered and worn

A linear mindset with arrogance squared
Divided our home into property shares
Cattle brought sickness though you were immune
Their gift leads to your doom.

	Faces The Blizzard, faces the storm
	Through your time traveled battles you have honed
	The majesty shown

	Faces The Blizzard, faces the storm
	You’re still the heart of the circle nature formed
	A covenant torn...

The sun arose far to the east where we had once been born,
The orders had been given to be riding before morn.
Mounted men on cavalry we faced a trail of thorns,
In the Valley of the Little Big Horn.

Reno, Benteen ‘n Custer led our command that day.
To slaughter Sioux and Cheyenne camped beyond the glade.
Who would see survival, who would be forlorn?
In the Valley of the Little Big Horn.

	I was a soldier who rode to the tune,
	Of a bugler’s “Garryowen” on a June afternoon.
	Away from my loved ones, away from my home,
	Apart from the woman that I held as my own.
		“A leave will be granted to the man without help,
		Kills the first savage and brings me his scalp,”

For what is the reason for our presence in this land
Has gold lust or blood thirst taken our command?
It doesn’t really matter now headin’ towards the storm,
In the Valley of the Little Big Horn.

There made three battalions from the Seventh Cavalry.
One with Major Reno, another with Benteen.
But glory followed Custer’s men so with glory we were torn,
From the Valley of the Little Big Horn.

	I was a soldier who rode to the tune,
	Of a bugler’s “Garryowen” on a June afternoon,
	Away from my loved ones, away from my home,
	Apart from the woman that I held as my own.
		Ford the stream and when in camp kill everyone you see,
		"Long will live this day for us, the Seventh Cavalry.”

Fire swept the prairie and dust hid the flames,
When out of the haze rode the Masters of the Plains
Then death they delivered, we invaders from afar,
In the Battle of the Little Big Horn.

The sun arose far to the east where we had once been born,
The orders had been given to be riding before morn.
Mounted men on cavalry we faced a trail of thorns,
In the Valley of the Little Big Horn.

Mounted men on cavalry we faced a trail of thorns...

In the Valley of the Little Big Horn.

The Louisiana Purchase opened up some doors 
to finance those Napoleonic wars
The Deal of the Century, but what will we do with it now?
Oh, the Mississippi drainage ain’t exactly hay,
At least that’s what Thomas Jefferson said one day.
There’s a whole lot of room to trap and chop and plow

  	And there just might be a Northwest Passage, somewhere up there
  	But we got to beat the French and British to it
  	And corner that fur trade, yeah, we gotta do it
 
So he called me up one fortuitous night
And asked me if I’d try with all of my might.
To put my place in history in the brag,
I said, “You Bet!”, then called on Clark
And together we were ready to make our mark
We’re the Lewis and Clark “Corps of Discovery” Rag.
 
Well fifteen million bucks seemed fair
For an eight hundred thousand mile square
A tract of land that nearly doubled America’s size
So Tom gave us twenty-five hundred bucks
Pointed up the Missouri and said “Good luck!
That’s where this country’s economic future lies.”
 
 	Yes, and politics and money followed us most all the way
 	At the head of the Missouri we found three rivers
 	We named ‘em after Madison and Gallatin and Jefferson

We boldly go where no one dares
We fight off mosquitoes and grizzly bears
“We’re really somethin’”, though we don’t mean to brag
We made friends with all kind'a tribes
By offering vermillion and beads for bribes
We’re the Lewis and Clark Corps of Discovery
We’ll open up the West!  Wouldn’t it be loverly?

The Lewis and Clark Corps of Discovery Rag!

In the long ago time in this homeland of mine
Old Man roamed far and alone
Walking to and through each adventure aligned
With the peaks of the Earth’s backbone
	Along the ridgeline he walked with his face in the wind
	He follows the trace scent of hooves
	He watches wolves down an elk by an evergreen belt
	His fascination led to the tale
		Of Napi Becomes A Wolf

“As we all grow old, it’s through choice we grow wise
Napi listen close if you can
Through this transformation you may realize
The love that binds our Wolf Clan.”
	And then by choice Napi fell under his medicine spell
	He woke behind eyes of different sheen
	His new ears heard the world as each moment unfurled
	The Sacred within every living thing 
		When Napi Became a Wolf.

			Napi’s vision was restored in communion with his family
			They hunted in the Sun
			He glimpsed the principles key to weaving survival
			For both Wolf and Man
			Always share and understand...

(Musical Interlude)	

By the grace of the days in this long ago land
We can focus on the gifts of the Sun
Wolf Chief was messenger to early man
Both forms sprang from one common sand
	Through this Eden we’ve seen folded into our dream
	Now mortal, struggling to stand
	Take a lesson from one who beneath this same Sun
	Was transformed, into a kin of man
		When Napi Became a Wolf
		When Napi Becomes a Wolf
   		When Napi Becomes a Wolf

      		Napi Becomes a Wolf

You’ve gathered ‘round me young and old
Girls and boys there were stories told
About the land that taught us to talk
With Mother’s hand we learned to walk
 	We traveled back in time to the last ice age
 	With the Sun’s creation fully engaged
 	Spirits and heroes, tricksters and fools
 	The cast includes everyone
 
 	In this unfolding stage
 		The Buffalo Café
 
 	Nature’s anointed play...
        	The Buffalo Cafe
 		The Buffalo Cafe
   		The Buffalo Cafe
      		The Buffalo Cafe
 
        	The Buffalo Cafe
 
 			"That's All Folks!"

Blackened sky, the moon is new, storm clouds tumble out ahead
Darkness spawns suspicion that the dawn might resurrect the dead
The call within won’t be ignored if conscience is servant to a cure
Hell blooms by full moon if you defer.

Cross Blood, Half Breed, Mixed Blood Son, your trail has been turbulent for sure
You comprehend the Child of Peace, depends on the phrasing of your words
Your eyes inquisitive, your voice direct, your motives unquestionably pure
You’re the High Plains Matador of Metaphor
	You’re The Interpreter.

		American conquistadors are knocking at the gate
		John Wayne-like festivities with profit-laced expectations

Soldiers' volleys through sleeping camps, loom if negotiations fail
Or sometimes even if they succeed for there’s liars for hire on this trail
A saber-toothed pendulum swings between the sinister and moral sides of man
If you can’t succeed, nobody can...
	You’re the Interpreter.

In a barroom brawl, he’ll knock you out, then buy you a drink when you come to.
He’s learned well we must forgive to live, and we’ll receive from others as we do.
Without him, all hell breaks loose, so keep track if pressure cracks occur
Call the genuine Matador of Metaphor
	Call the Interpreter

He’s the High Plains Matador of Metaphor...

	He's the Interpreter
  		Call in the Interpreter
    	Rock on with the Interpreter
      		Sober up the Interpreter
        Sing out the Interpreter
          	Call in the Interpreter

I come ridin’ through the prairie grass, the wind has waved the way
To see that lovely maiden girl whose beauty is on display
And I hope that she remembers me and leaves her door ajar
To snuggle as September leaves fall naked as they are

	You’re the Rose, you’re The Rose of Fort Macleod
	Autumn knows, Autumn shows her colors proud
	A dozen men all wanting you are waiting in the crowd
	With offerings and promises to The Rose of Fort Macleod

T’wasn’t it a moon ago when I first caught your eye
Playing in an old saloon beneath the summer sky
But the driving rains and winds of change played seasons with the mind
And I could’ve had you to myself but I could not say, "mine"

	You’re the Rose, you’re The Rose of Fort Macleod
	Autumn knows, Autumn throws her colors proud
	A dozen men all wanting you are waiting in the crowd
	With offerings and promises to The Rose of Fort Macleod

	You’re the Rose, you’re The Rose of Fort Macleod
	Autumn knows, Autumn shows her colors proud
	A dozen men all wanting you are waiting in the crowd
	To offer rings and promises to The Rose of Fort Macleod

	They’ll offer rings and promises to The Rose...
 
	Of Fort Macleod

	The purest gift is not of gold
	But in art that awakens the soul.

On the spring eve of sixteen, Charlie Russell departed from his St. Louis home
A young man, whose big dreams had delivered a call to the heart
So by train and stagecoach he made his way through an endless sea
Of grass that blew to the shore of the Big Sky’s unbroken sod
	When the Land Belonged to God
 
A rising choir of buffalo, mountains were sentinels for creatures below
Stirring tones from long ago that survived an eclipse of the soul
As the curtain closed on our noble play, before the stage was struck by cashiers and surveyors
He carefully captured the scenes of the Big Sky’s unbroken sod
	When the Land Belonged to God
 
 		Where all the wild Kin of man danced in rhythm with the land
 		Where Grizzly Bear and Gray Wolf were first chiefs
 		Where episodes of Old Man’s travels helped our people first unravel
 		The mystery of Sacred Time between the earth and sky
 
Time respects the careful hand. When chosen colors are dry, the vision forever stands.
The purest gift is not of gold, but in art that awakens the soul.
As we choose our trail up the Great Divide to an unknown stage on the other side
We might realign with the scenes of the Big Sky’s unbroken sod
 	Where the Land Belongs to God
 	On the Big Sky’s unbroken sod
 
 	Where the Land Belongs to God

After the Civil War blood bath was over, 
anxious eyes refocused on the West
Gold fields were calling, big timber was falling, 
many young men’s dreams were addressed
	Some forged toward virgin valleys and canyons
	Some forced un-pretty plans upon the Plains
	To where there were bison, wild herds without end…
	They were looking for the Whoop-Up Trail
	Were loaded for the Whoop-Up Trail

Steamboats switched cargo in bustlin’ Ft. Benton, 
Merchandise upriver to be sold
Big bales of buffalo robes then were taken 
down river to St. Louis with the gold
	U.S. authorities made law for the Red Man
	The whiskey trading scabs were told to move on 
	to the “no law and order land” north of the line
	They went slippin’ down the Whoop-Up Trail
	Went boundin’ down the Whoop-Up Trail

		“Show me the money” was the song of the Merchant Princes
		Darkness descended in their reign
		General Sheridan’s “Final Solution”
		Was unleashed to subjugate the Plains...

			Merchant Princes of Darkness Boy’s Choir:
			No law and order up north of the border
			No law and order up north of the line
				Show me the money, build me a robe mine
				Show me the money, go north of the line
			We’ll sell anything to any man, gold is in the vault
			What happens when the sun goes down, hell, it’s not our fault.

			Hell is not our fault!

After the buffalo robe rush was over 
reservation refugees were left
Merchants restructured, their green sacks of clover were 
funneled into banks and politics
	The trickster stumbles off in drunken stupor
	Lost is the freedom of ten thousand years
	A sober reflection in history’s glass
	Lookin’ down the Whoop-Up Trail
	We’ve bounded down the Whoop-Up Trail
	We're bounding down the Whoop-Up

	Children of the Whoop-Up Trail

Thousands upon thousands of years before the quest
Of Christopher Columbus’s mission to the West
People of the New Land from coast to ocean coast
Were living lives in syncopated rhythm with the host

Now in sober retrospect, Chris wasn’t all that clean
His dreams demanded slaves and gold in service to his queen
Sinister conquistadors followed in his wake
With degrees in rape and plunder, they’d civilize and take

	So with the Coming of the Horse and the dawning of the gun
	There were two new roads for our tribes to travel on
	We were people of the Plains long before we held the reins
	When the spirit horse arrived a reckoning began

Beneath the awning of the sky upon the open plain
Like a bulb in fertile ground awaiting warmth and rain
People of the flowing grass envisioned with the wind
That elk and dog become as one, together born again

Weaving amidst the buffalo stampeding from our bows
Our ponies hooves were fleet and sure the meat would be brought home
The power to select, the power to protect
Before us stood the challenge of balance and respect

	So with the Coming of the Horse and the dawning of the gun
	There were two new roads for our tribes to travel on
	We were people of the Plains long before we held the reins
	When the spirit horse arrived a reckoning began

		Feel the heart embrace the glory days of youth
		With wild herds countless as the stars.
		Grandfather Spirit sparks vision touched with truth.
		Granddaughter’s eyes reflect a fascination longing to be ours.

		They ride the wind...

Clouds of thunder rumbled inside the Earth’s backbone
With the tone first set by light strangers to our home
A crazy proclamation, our Mother was now owned
By some far away White Father where the morning sun had shone

With a Hudson’s Bay connection and ponies primed for speed
We penalized this arrogance a quarter century
Nomad warriors of the Earth neutralized the force
That "willed to power" o’er our home, the domain of the horse

	So with the Coming of the Horse and the dawning of the gun
	There were two new roads for our tribes to travel on
	We were people of the Plains long before we held the reins
	When the spirit horse arrived a reckoning began
	
	Both Tribe and Spirit Horse survives...    Reborn again!