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.