BATTLE OF MAXTON FIELD
words and music by Malvina Reynolds
© 1958 by Schroder Music Co.

Now brave the Klansmen rallied there In Maxton town that night.
All armed with knives and pistol guns and honin' for a fight.
Oh, rally round, you Klansmen bold, but do not show your face.
We'll burn the fiery cross tonight and save the Nordic race.

Chorus:
Oh, the Klan, Oh the Klan
It calls on ev'ry red blood fighting man
Who is free and white and bigot, gets his courage from a spigot,
And protects his racial purity the very best he can.

The Indians, the Indians, they are our natural foe.
They lure our girls with coke and pie, and take them to the show.
They wear blue jeans and leather coats, but anyone can see,
They are not real Americans, the like of you and me.

The heroes left their stores and plows, their pool-halls and their bars,
And in their gallant hooded shirts, they drove up in their cars.
For in this grave emergency that mustered every soul,
Who should appear to lead the fight but Wizard Jimmy Kole.

Now as the cars were drawing in an ominous sound was heard.
Was that an Indian battle cry or just a gooney bird?
Is that a gooney bird I see or Grandpa's fighting cock,
Or is it a Lumbee war-bonnet that comes from Chimney Rock

The headlights shone, the Klansmen stood in circle brave and fine,
When suddenly a whoop was heard that curdled every spine.
An Indian youth with steely eyes, he sauntered in alone,
He calmly drew his shootin' iron and conked the microphone.

Another shot, the light went out, there was a moment's hush,
Then a hundred thousand Lumbee boys came screaming from the brush.
Well, maybe not a million quite, but surely more than four,
And the Klansmen shook from head to foot and headed for the door.

The Lumbee Indians whooped and howled in the ancient Lumbee way,
And the Klansmen melted off the ground like snow on a sunny day.
Our histories will long record that perilous advance,
When many a Klansman left the field with buckshot in his pants.

The coppers listened from afar, they did not lift a gun.
They heard the noise, they said, "The boys are having a little fun."
But when they saw the nightshirt lads trooping down the road,
They knew that something went amiss, the wrong switch had been throwed.

When the coppers reached the battlefield they saw no single soul,
In Pembroke town, the Indians were hanging Jimmy Kole.
Not James himself, for he had fled with his shirt-tail hanging free,
But all the joyful Lumbee boys, they hanged his effigy.

Final chorus:
Oh, the Klan, Oh, the Klan
They've hung their little nightshirts in the can*
If you want to see them run, shoot a pistol toward the sun,
And give an Indian war whoop like a joyful Lumbee man.

*or, says Malvina: "their bedsheet ended up where it began" (depending upon the age and condition of your audience)

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