| Ever since the days of old
|
| Men would search for wealth untold
|
| They’d dig for silver and for gold
|
| And leave the empty holes
|
| And way down south in the Everglades
|
| Where the blackwater rolls and the sawgrass waves
|
| The eagles fly and the otters play
|
| In the land of the Seminole
|
| So blow, blow Seminole wind
|
| Blow like you’re never gonna blow again
|
| I’m calling to you like a long lost friend
|
| But I know who you are
|
| And blow, blow from the Okeechobee
|
| All the way up to Micanopy
|
| Blow across the home of the Seminoles
|
| The alligators and the gar
|
| Progress came and took its toll
|
| And in the name of flood control
|
| They made their plans and they drained the land
|
| Now the glades are going dry
|
| And the last time I walked in the swamp
|
| I sat upon a Cypress stump
|
| I listened close and I heard the ghost
|
| Of Osceola cry
|
| So blow, blow Seminole wind
|
| Blow like you’re never gonna blow again
|
| I’m calling to you like a long lost friend
|
| But I know who you are
|
| And blow, blow from the Okeechobee
|
| All the way up to Micanopy
|
| Blow across the home of the Seminoles
|
| The alligators and the gar |