Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Seven Little Indians, artist - John Hiatt. Album song Chronicles, in the genre Иностранный рок
Date of issue: 31.12.2004
Record label: A&M
Song language: English
Seven Little Indians |
There were seven little Indians |
Living in a brick house on |
Central Avenue |
Gathered 'round their daddy |
Tellin' stories in the living room |
From a slightly unrealistic point of view |
Momma was off yonder in the kitchen somewhere |
Boiling up some hot water for them to all get up to their necks in |
The seven little Indians new |
If the rest of the tribe ever scrutinized their household |
Somehow it would not pass inspection |
The big chief railed on |
And spun his tales of brave conquest |
About the moving of his little band |
Up to Alaska |
Where the caribou run free |
See he had been there putting in telephone lines |
For the army during World War II |
Even brought back a picture of a frozen mastodon |
For the little Indians to see |
And some mukluks and some sealskin gloves |
And a coat with beads around the collar |
His wife kept them in the mothballs |
Underneath the Hudson Bays |
And every once and a while he’d get all wound up |
With one of his stories, he’d put them all on |
And dance around in that blue TV light |
Like it was some campfire blazing away |
Well he stamped and he hollered |
But he could not stay warm in that living room |
And even the seven little Indians could feel the chill |
And although everything always worked |
Out for the better in all of his stories |
In that old brick house it always felt like |
Something was movin' in for the kill |
Blazing like a trail |
Shot through the eyes of the seven little Indians |
Blazing like the sheets of light dancing up in the sky |
Up above Anchorage |
Blazing like a star shot down to the ground |
Back home again in Indiana |
Now it finally got so quiet you could hear a pin drop |
They started dropping like flies |
The oldest little Indian got sick and vanished |
The big chief went two years later |
The mother raised the six little Indians up |
The best she could |
To be housewives, musicians, and insurance salesmen |
But they all shared this common denominator |
You see, all the characters in the big chief’s stories |
Were named after the seven little Indians |
And like I said, in his stories everything |
Always worked out for the better |
And now as I’m telling this stuff to my own kids |
Dancing around in that blue TV light |
Well, I wish I had those mukluks, those sealskin gloves |
And that coat with beads around the collar |