No need for a bow and arrow,
There's no colours in these winds,
Her clothes don't fit in here
And there's nothing joyful she can sing.
No lakes to cross
Just ******* to toss,
Barely anything is green.
Because around the streets of London
No one like Pocahontas is seen.

She's looking for her John Smith,
Someone kind, strong, bright.
But considering everyone she's passed on the street
There's just no body in her sight.