| Oh those Yellow Creek waters bathed the sons and daughters
|
| Of an Indian nation called the Cherokee
|
| Then came those pioneer settlers that drove the Indians westward
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| Far from their home down on Yellow Creek
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| Now it’s many years later, I’m living in the nature
|
| Of this Indian paradise called Tennessee
|
| Where I find those broken arrows that flew like the sparrows
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| The sparrows that still fly down on Yellow Creek
|
| Oh those Yellow Creek waters bathed the sons and daughters
|
| Of an Indian nation called the Cherokee
|
| Through the blood-stained years they walk the Trail of Tears
|
| Crying for their home down on Yellow Creek
|
| Sometimes my wife and babies think I’m going crazy
|
| When I talk about the things I see and hear when they’re asleep
|
| Like those Indian children playing, singing and a-saying
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| This is their home down on Yellow Creek
|
| Oh those Yellow Creek waters bathed the sons and daughters
|
| Of an Indian nation called the Cherokee
|
| Through the blood-stained years they walk the Trail of Tears
|
| Crying for their home down on Yellow Creek
|
| Oh those Yellow Creek waters bathed the sons and daughters
|
| Of an Indian nation called the Cherokee
|
| Through the blood-stained years they walk the Trail of Tears
|
| Crying for their home down on Yellow Creek |