Ballad Of Ira Hayes
Johnny Cash
Ira HayeAs, Ira HayeDs.
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
E'bout a brave young Indian Ayou should remember well,
from the land of the Pima Indians, Da proud and nobel band,
Ewho farmed the Phoenix Valley in AArizona land.
ADown their ditches a thousand years, the Dwaters grew Ira's people's crops
till the Ewhite man stole their water rights and the Asparklin' water stopped.
Now, Ira's folks were hungry Dand their land grew crops of weeds.
EWhen the war came, Ira volunteered Aand forgot the white man's greed.
Call him Adrunken Ira Hayes, he won't Danswer anymore;
not the Ewhiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Amarine that went to war.
There they Abattled up Iwo Jima Hill; D250 men,
Ebut only 27 lived to Awalk back down again.
And when the fight was over, Dand Old Glory raised,
Eamong the men who held it high was the AIndian, Ira Hayes.
Call him Adrunken Ira Hayes, he won't Danswer anymore;
not the Ewhiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Amarine that went to war.
Ira AHayes returned a hero, Dcelebrated through the land.
He was Ewined and speeched and honored, evA'rybody shook his hand.
But he was just a Pima Indian; Dno water, no home, no chance.
At Ehome nobody cared what Ira had done.
And Awhen do the Indians dance?
Call him Adrunken Ira Hayes, he won't Danswer anymore;
not the Ewhiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Amarine that went to war.
Then AIra started drinkin' hardD; jail was often his home.
They Elet him raise the flag and lower it like Ayou'd throw a dog a bone.
He died drunk early one morningD, alone in the land he fought to save.
ETwo inches of water in a lonely ditch was a Agrave for Ira Hayes.
Call him Adrunken Ira Hayes, he won't Danswer anymore;
not the Ewhiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Amarine that went to war.
Yeah, call him Adrunken Ira HayesD, but his land is just as dry,
Eand his ghost is lyin' thirsty Ain the ditch were Ira died.