Ira Hayes

Come gather round me people, there?s a story I would tell about a brave young Indian that 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 for ten thousand years the sparkling waters rushed And the white man stole the water rights and all the running water hushed Now Ira?s folks were hungry, 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 drinkin Indian Nor the Marine that went to war 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 came back a hero celebrated through the land He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand But he was just a Pima Indian, he had no money, no home, no chance In Arizona no one cared what Ira?d done cause when do the Indians dance So 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 Well, He died drunk early one morning. all alone in the land he fought to save Two inches of water in a lonesome ditch was a grave for Ira Hayes Chorus Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes but his land is still as dry And his ghost is lyin thirsty inside the ditch where Ira died