Geronimo smelled of Teswin, sweat, cactus juice, and the blood of antelope and Mexicans

It�s about car salesman and taxes.

Geronimo smelled of Teswin, sweat, cactus juice, and the blood of antelope and Mexicans: Did Geronimo ever get the lonesome blues? Listening to trains On the reservation On sticky hot nights in Oklahoma A long ,long way from Arizona. Was he like Blind Willie Johnson? Pouring out spirit like potion? Did he sit in his chair and dream of old times, horses, raids, moonlight, and gambling? Did he crave mescal and venison, though He had beef, rubarb and watermelon? Geronimo with your weapons belt glittering, your sneer cut by Mexicans with a saber, An outlaw's outlaw, for horseback, cause you beat not trains, banks, and bankers, but the U.S. Army, to a draw. You were a murderer, a horse thief and a kidnaper You made money from the babies of senioritis, Even your own people didn't like you You were a warrior of a wondering spirt your Medicine was made of thunder And you were too much of an Apache for liven.' Horses you rode stuck, and ate them. Women in wickeups you loved them. With your rifle, your knife and your pistol You were friends only with eagles You had no use for enemies And the mirrors on the mountains of Miles, Was just white men making up files? Files to file you away Reservations were just for bad hunting, With a smile you'd ride in and gamble, And leave with teswin for raiding. Cutin' telegraph wires Geronimo, your back in a high cantle saddle, killing white men mule deer, and Mexicans, for a lot of the same hunter reasons. You were a man who lived by the seasons, your brushfires blown by the wind. So what did you think Geronimo? How they posed and made you an Edwardian, Was it funny, or sad and bluesy, All those fairs and trains and politicians With your top hat, car and braves? You hawked pictures for money after prison they locked you up for a reason, you came out with circus redemption but did you get the lonesome blues? Was your voice up high, Like a hawk, in the Madre? Stretched out chanting like rawhide Could you moan like a bluesman wailing? On nights of mournful grieving? T.R. would have said you were bully And you made a good autograph living. You had a late life family and children And Oklahoma was hot in the evening But did you still get the lonesome blues Geronimo When you thought of your painted mountains? Of cactus, rifles, and sunrise. Of your young wife killed by troopers? Did your song ever treat with sorrow And would you have traded your Cabin tomorrows, For mountain spirit dreams of lighting Yesterday? Chad Allbrett

Reviews

[David Lewis Paget]

Although not an American, and therefore not well versed in American folk lore, I think most of us have heard of Geronimo and the Apache nation. Sad that such a wild, natural entity should be tamed by the incursion of the white man. It would have been more fitting had he been slaughtered in some devil may care raid on an army post. To have been transformed into a circus act like Chief Sitting Bull for the gratification of newcomers to the landscape was somehow sordid and unworthy of the man. An interesting piece.

[Dezaraye]

This is really well written and very informative. I'd never heard of him ... amazing what history text books leave out isn't it?