Susanna Little

Sussana Little Sussana Little Gone ?fore I ever arrived Questions that stream through my own Creek blood The odyssey of your life A motherless child , you were torn from your home By decree of the county affairs Good Christians, they gave you a lily-white dress And shorn back that Indian hair Told ya study your Bible, be silent and still And take to the ways of the whites Nothin? they offered could break down your will For you ran for the gates one night Sussana Little Sussana Little Gone ?fore I ever arrived Questions that stream through my own Creek blood Stories that keep you alive Your daddy , Joe Little, had woes of his own Drink was much stronger than greed But some in the city felt native red hands Were no place to let rest a deed Oklahoma was rich with the stench of black oil And the men who came there to drill In the sun baked clay of Indian lands There, in the desolate fields Sussana Little Sussana Little Gone ?fore I ever arrived Questions that stream through my own creek blood Songs that?a keep you alive Mysterious crimes, oh they swept through the county Waving the finger of blame Eyes turned to Joe Little A couple too many acres of land to his name No one would have heard the lone shot in the night They never posted his bail Big Joey Little, never walked out Of Sheriff Stanton?s jail Sussana Little Sussana Little Gone ?fore I ever arrived Questions that stream through my own Creek blood The odyssey of your life For all of the lives you had lived this far No part of you could have known The evil hearts of the men who would fetch ya One night by the side of the road The moon, it grew dark and the frost would form Before ya finally were found Chained to a log in a torn white dress Shakin? wild eyed on the ground Sussana Little Sussana Little Gone ?fore I ever arrived Questions that stream through my own creek blood Such were the trials of your life... Yet in the years to come, you took a man Raised five of your own And for a spell it was as almost as though The light of justice had shown The hand that had written this part but for you And made it all plenty hard Gave you a gusher, a well spring of oil There in your own back yard So pile them kids in the plush back seat Ridin? shotgun in the Packard to town With your man, Tom Fisher, one hand on the wheel The other on your knee now Sussana Little Sussana Little Gone ?fore I ever arrived Questions that stream through my own Creek blood The odyssey of your life Sussana Little Sussana Little Sussana Little Sussana Little