Old Peter Minuit had nothing to lose
When he bought the isle of Manhattan
For twenty six dollars and a bottle of booze,
And they threw in The Bronx and Staten.
Pete thought that he had the best of the bargain,
But the poor Red Man just grinned,
And he grunted "Ugh!", meaning O.K. in his jargon,
For he knew poor Pete was skinned.
We've tried to run the city,
But the city ran away.
And now, Peter Minuit,
We can't continue it!

Broadway's turning into Coney,
Champagne Charlie's drinkin' gin,
Old New York is new and phoney.
Give it back to the Indians.
Two cents more to smoke a Lucky,
Dodging buses keeps you thin,
New New York is simply ducky.
Give it back to the Indians!
Take all the reds
On the boxes made for soap,
Whites on Fifth Avenue,
Blues down in Wall Street losing hope.
Big bargain today,
Chief, take it away.
Come, you busted city slickers,
Better take it on the chin.
Father Knick has lost his knickers.
Give it back to the Indians!

Eighty-sixth Street looks like Berlin
And the Giants never win.
No dark park to kiss your girl in.
Give it back to the Indians.
Even Harlem's getting darker,
No more jokes to make us grin.
M-G-M's got Dotty Parker.
Give it back to the Indians.
Go to the park,
See the monkeys in the zoo,
All absolutely free;
But then the city tax comes due
And when you get through
Whose monkey are you?
Just to make it easy sailin',
Sell the Fair, it's made of tin.
But be sure that they get Whalen.
Give it back to the Indians!

The Music Hall has presentations
But you simply can't get in.
Try to jump those excavations.
Give it back to the Indians.
Shakespeare doesn't get a showing,
When those striptease girls begin.
Yet Tobacco Road keeps going;
Give it back to the Indians.
Bound on the north
By the Bronx--a pretty view.
East by Long Island--smoke.
West by New Jersey--pots of glue.
South Brooklyn's asleep.
Cheif no wanna keep!
Swing bands give you heebie-jeebies,
Dewey's put an end to sin.
Men wear clothes like Lucius Beebe's.
Give it back to the Indians!