O, Waca-Ohone was a beautiful squaw,

In the wonderful woods out west ;
She knew no rule, and she knew no law,
Save the terrible rule of her awful papaw
Whose name it was Pontiac Patrick McGaw
Who flew in a passion whenever he saw
A White near his daughter, or, indeed, any squaw-

Whose blood beat warm neath his buffalo vest.

But Waca-Ohone was a cunnin squaw

The cunninest squaw in the west ;
And tho' she pretended to love her papaw,
She loved far better a youth whom she saw
On a hunting excursion his name was McGraw
A lad who was fresh from Manitobaw,
Who came to establish a beautiful saw-
Mill close to her home, in the elegant west.

Now, Waca-Ohone was a sly, sly squaw

The slyest squaw in the west ;
And she went one night to her great papaw,
Who was feeding on buffalo beef that was raw,
And asked him to let her wed Felix McGraw ;
But he opened his mouth and tried to say ' naw !'
And choked on the beef in expounding the law ;
And soon great Pontiac Patrick McGaw
Was the deadest chief that ever you saw,

In his beautiful tent in the west.

And Waca-Ohone, the beautiful squaw

The prettiest squaw in the west ;
Soon changed her name from Miss McGaw
To the elegant one of Missus McGraw,
And any one visiting Manitobaw
Will say they 're the happiest ever they saw,
In the whole of the beautiful west.