| Cherokee Louise is hiding in this tunnel
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| In the Broadway bridge
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| We’re crawling on our knees
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| We’ve got flashlights and batteries
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| We’ve got cold cuts from the fridge
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| Last year about this time
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| We used to climb up in the branches
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| Just to sway there in some breeze
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| Now the cops on the street
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| They want Cherokee Louise
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| People like to talk
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| Tongues are waggin' over fences
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| Waggin' over phones
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| All their doors are locked
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| God she can’t even come to our house
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| But I know where she’ll go To the place where you can stand
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| And press your hands like it was bubblebath
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| In dust piled high as me Down under the street
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| My friend
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| Poor Cherokee Louise
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| Ever since we turned 13
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| It’s like a minefield
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| Walking to the door
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| Going out you get the 3rd degree
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| And comin' in you get the 3rd world war
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| Tuesday after school
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| We put our pennies on the rails
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| And when the train went by We were jumpin' round like fools
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| Goin' «Look no heads or tails»
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| Goin' «Look my lucky prize»
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| She runs home to her foster dad
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| He opens up a zipper
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| And he yanks her to her knees
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| Oh please be here-please
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| My friend
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| Poor Cherokee Louise
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| Cherokee Louise is hiding in this tunnel
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| In the Broadway bridge
|
| We’re crawling on our knees
|
| We’ve got Archie and Silver Screen
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| I know where she is The place where you can stand
|
| And press your hand like it was bubblebath
|
| In dust piled high as me Down under the street
|
| My friend
|
| Poor Cherokee Louise
|
| Oh Cherokee Louise |