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letra de the battle of maxton field - pete seeger

now brave the klansmen rallied there in maxton town that night
all armed with knives and pistol guns and honin’ for a fight
oh, rally round, you klansmen bold, but do not show your face
we’ll burn the fiery cross tonight and save the nordic race

oh, the klan, oh the klan
it calls on ev’ry red blood fighting man
who is free and white and bigot, gets his courage from a spigot
and protects his racial purity the very best he can
the indians, the indians, they are our natural foe
they lure our girls with coke and pie, and take them to the show
they wear bluе jeans and leather coats, but anyonе can see
they are not real americans, the like of you and me

the heroes left their stores and plows, their pool-halls and their bars
and in their gallant hooded shirts, they drove up in their cars
for in this grave emergency that mustered every soul
who should appear to lead the fight but wizard jimmy kole

now as the cars were drawing in an ominous sound was heard
was that an indian battle cry or just a gooney bird?
is that a gooney bird i see or grandpa’s fighting c-ck
or is it a lumbee war-bonnet that comes from chimney rock

the headlights shone, the klansmen stood in circle brave and fine
when suddenly a whoop was heard that curdled every spine
an indian youth with steely eyes, he sauntered in alone
he calmly drew his shootin’ iron and conked the microphone
another shot, the light went out, there was a moment’s hush
then a hundred thousand lumbee boys came screaming from the brush
well, maybe not a million quite, but surely more than four
and the klansmen shook from head to foot and headed for the door

the lumbee indians whooped and howled in the ancient lumbee way
and the klansmen melted off the ground like snow on a sunny day
our histories will long record that perilous advance
when many a klansman left the field with buckshot in his pants

the coppers listened from afar, they did not lift a gun
they heard the noise, they said, “the boys are having a little fun”
but when they saw the nightshirt lads trooping down the road
they knew that something went amiss, the wrong switch had been throwed

when the coppers reached the battlefield they saw no single soul
in pembroke town, the indians were hanging jimmy kole
not james himself, for he had fled with his shirt-tail hanging free
but all the joyful lumbee boys, they hanged his effigy

oh, the klan, oh, the klan
they’ve hung their little nightshirts in the can
if you want to see them run, shoot a pistol toward the sun
and give an indian war whoop like a joyful lumbee man

- pete seeger

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