Her name it was Cherokee Mary,
She was sweet as a Cherokee rose;
Though her manners were often contrary
She was light as an elf on her toes.
She could dance like a zephyr-blown thistle
She could smile like the witch that she was;
And when she got mad she could bristle
And cuss like a good one, because
Although she was cute as a fairy
The cutest gal ever I saw,
Yet noboddy wedded with Mary
For—she was a Cherokee squaw!
Year: 1850
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