You wanna cash in on minority programs and grants and being noticed

And you wanna rub shoulders with Brando and go to cocktail parties because suddenly you're interesting and everyone wants to be your friend

So you wanna be an Indian, go to powwows, dance like one

But you don't want to live on a reservation or in some cheap hot & cold frame on the other side of the tracks in a city north of nowhere

And you don't want to think about Sara, 34, with her bloated, cirrhotic belly, dying, and her seven kids, or have your non-Indian friends catch you grinding corn on a metate, or see the peppers and onions hang from the ceiling and kitchen walls in your home

And you don't want to work the potato fields in Idaho or sell turquoise jewelry on the street in Flagstaff

And you don't want to marry a drunken Indian and get beaten up all the time

And you don't want to pray the old way, offer your flesh or fast four days

And you don't want to go to prison for fighting for your rights

So you wanna be an Indian...

Author Unknown