She was a white-skinned black beauty; the daughter of an Indian,
Her grandparents raised her in northern Illinois,
I call her mother.

She was calling love,
She was young, yeah,
She was calling love,
Calling love, oh.

He was the son of a hellfire, holiness preacher woman,
They say nobody was wilder...but maybe his brother,
I call him father.

He was calling love,
He was young, yeah,
He was calling love,
Still in love.

She was young,
Calling love, yeah,
She was calling love,
He was young, oh,
She was calling love,
Still in love.

We all got together for the first time last September,
I said, "Somebody take a photograph, I've got a camera,"
Now I got me a favourite picture.