The Renegade
Ian & Sylvia Lyrics


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Upon the hillside
Policemen were climbing
The ghosts call the night wind
Their fantasies to tell
Dark on the snow
Where the blood drops a-drying
Slipped through cold fingers
The whiskey bottle fell

Ha-how-ya, mother
I leave you with your white man
I curse their church that tells us
That our fathers were wrong
And I'll hunt my own Mowich
And I'll drink my own whiskey
And I'll sing until morning
The old-fashioned song

Fires of the potlatch
Are all scattered in their ashes
Ma-sat-chie-ta-ma-now-wits
The evil ones remain
And our children cannot follow
The old nor the new ways

And the poles of their fathers
Are rotting in the rain

Ha-how-ya, mother
I leave you with your white man
I curse their church that tells us
That our fathers were wrong
And I'll hunt my own Mowich
And I'll drink my own whiskey
And I'll sing until morning
The old-fashioned song

Daylight came late
Over high coastal mountains
The renegade stood watching
With his rifle by his side
Then he emptied his gun
Up into the pale yellow sunrise
And he ran down the hillside
To the place where he died

Ha-how-ya, mother
I leave you with your white man
I curse their church that tells us
That our fathers were wrong
And I'll hunt my own Mowich
And I'll drink my own whiskey




And I'll sing until morning
The old-fashioned song

Overall Meaning

The lyrics to Ian & Sylvia’s song “The Renegade” are a powerful commentary on the mistreatment and betrayal of indigenous peoples by those in power. The song is based on the story of a Native American man who turns against his own people due to their acceptance of European colonialism and the loss of their traditional ways. The singer is haunted by the ghosts of his ancestors who remind him of the blood that has been shed and the traditions that have been lost. The lyrics describe the bleak landscape of a people who have been stripped of their sovereignty and cultural identity, and who are left to fight for their survival against overwhelming odds.


The singer of the song, a renegade in the eyes of his community, is bitter and angry at the betrayal of his people by the white man. He leaves his mother behind, rejecting the religion of the colonizers who have rewritten the history of his people and destroyed their culture. He chooses to hunt his own food and drink his own whiskey, singing an old-fashioned song until morning. The lyrics describe the fires of the potlatch, a traditional Native American ritual that was suppressed by the white man, leaving the community torn between the old and new ways. The poles of their fathers, symbols of their culture, are rotting in the rain, a poignant reminder of the cultural degradation they have experienced.


In conclusion, “The Renegade” is a poignant reminder of the complex issues faced by indigenous communities in the face of colonialism and cultural genocide. The lyrics serve as a powerful commentary on the weight of history and the struggle for identity in a postcolonial world.


Line by Line Meaning

Upon the hillside
On a hill, overlooking the scene


Policemen were climbing
Law enforcement officers are coming up the hill


The ghosts call the night wind
Imagined spirits haunt the wind


Their fantasies to tell
To tell stories of their desires


Dark on the snow
The night sky is dark against snow


Where the blood drops a-drying
Blood is drying on the snow


Slipped through cold fingers
The whiskey bottle dropped from cold fingers


The whiskey bottle fell
The bottle of whiskey fell to the ground


Ha-how-ya, mother
Native American greeting to one's mother


I leave you with your white man
I am leaving you with the white culture


I curse their church that tells us
I disapprove of the church that tells us


That our fathers were wrong
That our ancestors were incorrect


And I'll hunt my own Mowich
I will hunt my own food


And I'll drink my own whiskey
I will drink my own liquor


And I'll sing until morning
I will sing until morning


The old-fashioned song
The traditional song of my people


Fires of the potlatch
The fires used in the Native American potlatch ceremony


Are all scattered in their ashes
The ceremony is finished, and only ash remains


Ma-sat-chie-ta-ma-now-wits
Unknown Native American expression


The evil ones remain
Those who oppress us still exist


And our children cannot follow
Our children cannot fully embrace


The old nor the new ways
Neither the traditional nor the modern ways


And the poles of their fathers
The totem poles of our ancestors


Are rotting in the rain
They are decaying in the rain


Daylight came late
The day started later than usual


Over high coastal mountains
The sun rose over tall mountains near the coast


The renegade stood watching
The outlaw was standing, observing


With his rifle by his side
He was armed with his rifle


Then he emptied his gun
He fired all the rounds in his gun


Up into the pale yellow sunrise
He fired towards the rising sun


And he ran down the hillside
He ran down the hill


To the place where he died
He ran to where he eventually met his death




Lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Written by: Sylvia Fricker, Ian Tyson

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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Comments from YouTube:

@Whipspur

Man, old Ian sure will be missed. Canadian and western icon.

@leonardogborn5019

I love this.

@peterr7321

Memories from my past. As a young man, Ian & Sylvia, Joan Baez, Judy Collins, etc were my calming elements, along with Tchaikovsky, etc. Thank you for this clip, and especially for the photos and lyrics.

@thistlewaggoner5052

I've always loved this song since I heard it in my cradle

@Rod_J

Thanks for the posting this great song along with the wonderful pictures and the lyrics. I have just one small correction. The line is "and I'll hunt my own mowich". Mowich is Chinook jargon for Deer.