You have taken the land which is rightfully ours
Years from now, my people will be forced to live in mobile homes, on reservations
Your people will wear cardigans, and drink highballs
We will sell our bracelets by the roadsides,
You will play golf, and enjoy hot hors d'oeuvres
My people will have pain, and degradation,
Your people will have stick shifts
The gods of my tribe have spoken
They have said: Do not trust the Pilgrims
And for all these reasons, I have decided to stop you, and burn your village to the ground