by James Hyland

What do we owe to the edge of our blades

Carved from rock, like the past tribe made

by hand with tools of stone,

handle’s antler or an animal bone

Let us say Sir, we’ve been here before

Enter this land, you're gonna get a war

We’re the people who live on the plains

If it wasn’t for us, this would all be Spain

We’ll battle with your brigades

We’re still here like the edge on these blades

Defending this land with hands and stone

Fighting off armies with flint arrows

It’s a wild, It’s a wild, It’s a wild land.

The wild thing is, you're only here

cause the edge of these blades moved man up a tier

And now future man when your hair’s in my hand

the edge’ll come down to protect this land

I’m not fighting sir, I’m making a stand

You’re trying to say we can’t live on this land

Natural law out where we ride

Well out here, you win or you die

And now Captain Jack’s riding on our land

And his Rangers have a shot for every finger on the hand

You’re just cowboys we’re the greatest horsemen

Some counted coup by the time they’ve turned 10

It’s a wild, a wild, It’s a wild land.

So we’re gonna battle, over land

Where we know every cave, and every river bend

You could chase us all night, through the sleet, snow, and rain

We’ll lose you in the canyons we’ll lose ya on the Plains

We’re true warriors, defending our home

Our families live where the buffalo roam

It's a sacred land, it's a hunting ground

it's not the kind of place you go putting up towns

But new people keep flooding this land

And we’re gonna make em have to take it by hand

We’re still here, like the edge of these blades

Even our horses are covered in war paint

It’s a wild, wild, It’s a wild land.