Bad Indian

Not a very good Indian

Maybe even a bad Indian

My cheekbones aren't high enough

My last name isn't a sentence

I don't have enough bead-work or turquoise and

I don't speak good pidgin English

Certainly not as good as Johnny Depp did in that movie that one time

And I don't care if you connect with Indian spiritualism

I could care less if you did a sweat lodge

With your Caucasian spirit guide, who knew an Indian once

Sure, millions of Indians died, but tell me about your feelings

And cry your white tears

I'm just gonna be over here being a bad Indian

A woman once asked me my Indian name

And I said "It's Gregg"

And she was so disappointed, she was like, no

It has to be Red Eagle or Two Rivers

Or Grey Skull

I said, "Yes, wait, is that for real?"

"No, no" I said, without her realizing my brief

But generationally relevant He-Man joke

The kind of joke that would tell her that while Indian

I'm also having an American experience too

I finally said to her, "How about Walking Eagle"

And she said, "Yes, but is that true?"

I said "Yes, it's totally true"

And I never had the heart to tell her that

The only time an eagle walks

Is when it's too full of shit to fly

'Cause I'm a bad Indian

This one time a man walked into my space

And he asked me, some questions about my things

I tell him

When he suddenly interrupts me, as only a white man can

With all the Euro-swagger of a man

Whose people where so sure of their place in the universe

Their place in the world, their place in the eyes of God

You speak real good for a Native American

An Indian, a savage

A pagan, a prairie nig–

A godless heathen

And I would be justified in punching him

And I would be justified In cursing him out

And I would be justified calling him a racist

But that would make me a bad Indian

Which contradicts that old saying

You know the one

The only good Indian, is a dead Indian

Well, I'm a bad Indian

And I'm here