The Ballad Of Ira Hayes Lyrics

The Ballad Of Ira Hayes lyrics

Gather round me, people, there's a story I would tell, 

About a brave
young Indian you should remember well; 

From the land of the Pima
Indians, a proud and noble band, 

Who farmed the Phoenix Valley in
Arizona land. 

Down their ditches for a thousand years the waters grew
Ira's people's crops, 

Till the white man stole their water rights and
their sparklin' water stopped. 

Now Ira's folks grew hungry, and their
farms grew crops of weeds. 

When war came, Ira volunteered and forgot the
white man's greed. 

CHORUS: Call him drunken Ira Hayes -- 

He won't
answer anymore, 

Not the whiskey-drinkin' Indian, 

Not the Marine
who went to war. 



Well, they battled up Iwo Jima hill -- two
hundred and fifty men, 

But only twenty-seven lived -- to walk back down
again; 

When the fight was over -- and Old Glory raised 

Among the
men who held it high was the Indian -- Ira Hayes. 



Ira Hayes
returned a hero -- celebrated through the land, 

He was wined and
speeched and honored -- everybody shook his hand; 

But he was just a Pima
Indian -- no water, no home, no chance; 

At home nobody cared what Ira
done -- and when do the Indians dance? 



Then Ira started drinkin'
hard -- jail was often his home; 

They let him raise the flag and lower
it -- as you would throw a dog a bone; 

He died drunk early one morning
-- alone in the land he'd fought to save; 

Two inches of water in a
lonely ditch -- was the grave for Ira Hayes. 



CODA: Yea, call him
drunken Ira Hayes, 

But his land is just as dry, 

And the ghost is
lying thirsty 

In the ditch where Ira died.