Though he left The Valley of his birth,
he wears his people’s name at his hips.
Like a bird among the trees he watches;
a Mohawk with Eagle Vision.
Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon, the Redcoats are doomed.
Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon, the Redcoats are doomed.
His moral compass guides him through the snow
like a wolf’s nose guides him to blood.
The Templar’s fingerprints are on this war,
and he will freerun them down for our freedoms.
Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon, the Redcoats are doomed.
Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon, the Redcoats are doomed.
The Founding Fathers know they’re outnumbered;
he is their ally in the shadows.
A new nation’s fate lies in the balance,
and he fights to tip the scales.
Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon, the Redcoats are doomed.
Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon, the Redcoats are doomed.
Stealthy as a whisper he moves,
with his tomahawk in hand.
He’ll scratch out your life
if you try to take our rights.
Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon, the Redcoats are doomed.
Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon, the Redcoats are doomed.
Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon, the Redcoats are doomed.
Ra-doon-ha-gay-doon, the Redcoats are doomed.
