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AIra Hayes Ira DHayes CHORUS: Call him Adrunken Ira Hayes he won`t Danswer anymore not the Ewhiskey drinkin` Indian nor the AMarine that went to war
AGather round me people there`s a Dstory I would tell about a Ebrave young Indian yoAu should remember well
From the land of the Pima Indian a proud and noble band who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land Down the ditches for a thousand years the water grew Ira`s peoples crops till the white man stole the water rights and the sparklin water stopped Now Ira`s folks were hungry and their land grew crops of weeds When war came, Ira volunteered and forgot the white man`s greed CHORUS: There they battled up Iwo Jima`s hill, Two hundred and fifty men but only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again and when the fight was over and when Old Glory raised among the men who held it high was the Indian, Ira Hayes CHORUS: Ira 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 crops, no chance at home nobody cared what Ira`d done and when did the Indians dance CHORUS: Then Ira started drinkin` hard; jail was often his home they`d let him raise the flag and lower it like you`d throw a dog a bone! He died drunk one mornin` alone in the land he fought to save two inches of water in a lonely ditch was a grave for Ira Hayes CHORUS: Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes but his land is just as dry and his ghost is lyin` thirsty in the ditch where Ira died A do D:D------0- D do E:D------- E do A:D-------- A--3-4--- A-0-1--- A------0- E-------- E-----0- E--2-4---