There were seven little Indians   Livin' 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 knew   If the rest of the tribe ever scrutinized their household   Somehow it would not pass inspection      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'd done time putting in telephone lines   For the army during World War II   And 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 wound up   With one of his stories, he'd put them all on   And dance around in that blue TV screen 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   Well they 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 an arrow   Shot [Incomprehensible] stronghold out in Arizona      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   And the big chief went two years later      And the mama 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 the TV screen light   Well, I wish I had those mukluks, those sealskin gloves   And that coat with beads around the collar