Johnny cash ballad of ira hayes lyrics

CHORUS:

 Call him drunken Ira Hayes

 He won't answer anymore

 Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian 

 Nor the Marine that went to war

 

 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 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:

 Call him drunken Ira Hayes

 He won't answer anymore

 Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian 

 Nor the Marine that went to war

 

 

 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:

 Call him drunken Ira Hayes

 He won't answer anymore

 Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian 

 Nor the Marine that went to war

 

 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:

 Call him drunken Ira Hayes

 He won't answer anymore

 Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian 

 Nor the Marine that went to war

 

 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:

 Call him drunken Ira Hayes

 He won't answer anymore

 Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian 

 Nor the Marine that went to war

 

 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