The Ballad of Ira Hayes

Ira Hayes
 Ira Hayes
 Call him drunken Ira Hayes
 He won't answer anymore
 Not the whiskey drinking Indian
 Or the marine that went to war
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 Gather 'round me people
 There's a story I would tell
 'Bout a brave young Indian
 You 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 a thousand years
 The waters grew Ira's peoples' crops
 'Til the white man stole their water rights
 And the sparkling 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
 Call him drunken Ira Hayes
 He won't answer anymore
 Not the whiskey drinking Indian
 Or the marine that went to war
 There they battled up Iwo Jima hill
 Two hundred and fifty men
 But only twenty-seven lived
 To walk back down again
 And when the fight was over
 And old glory raised
 Among the men who held it high
 Was the Indian, Ira Hayes
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 Call him drunken Ira Hayes
 He won't answer anymore
 Not the whiskey drinking Indian
 Or the marine that went to war
 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'd done
 And when did the Indians dance
 Call him drunken Ira Hayes
 He won't answer anymore
 Not the whiskey drinking Indian
 Or the marine that went to war
 Then Ira started drinking hard
 Jail was often his home
 They let him raise the flag and lower it
 Like you'd throw a dog a bone
 He died drunk early one morning
 Alone in the land he fought to save
 Two inches of water and a lonely ditch
 Was a grave for Ira Hayes
 Call him drunken Ira Hayes
 He won't answer anymore
 Not the whiskey drinking Indian
 Or the marine that went to war
 Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes
 But his land is just as dry
 And his ghost is lying thirsty
 In the ditch where Ira died