
The Ballad of Ira Hayes
CALL HIM DRUNKEN IRA HAYES,
HE WON`T ANSWER ANY MORE;
NOT THE WHISKEY DRINKIN` INDIAN,
NOT THE MARINE WHO WENT TO WAR.
[verse 1]:
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 INDIANS -
A PROUD AND NOBLE BAND,
WHO FARMED THE PHOENIX VALLEY -
IN ARIZONA LAND.
[verse 2]:
DOWN THEIR DITCHES FOR A THOUSAND YEARS -
THE WATERS GREW IRA`S PEOPLE`S CROPS,
TILL THE WHITE MAN STOLE THEIR WATER RIGHTS -
AND THEIR SPARKLIN` WATER STOPPED.
NOW IRA`S FOLKS GREW 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 ANY MORE;
NOT THE WHISKEY DRINKIN` INDIAN,
NOT THE MARINE WHO WENT TO WAR.
[verse 3]:
WELL, THEY BATTLE UP IWO JIMA HILL -
TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY MEN,
BUT ONLY TWENTY SEVEN LIVED
TO WALK BACK DOWN AGAIN;
WHEN THE FIGHT WAS OVER -
AND OLD GLORY RAISED,
AMONG THE MEN WHO HELD IT HIGH
WAS INDIAN IRA HAYES.
[Chorus]:
CALL HIM DRUNKEN IRA HAYES,
HE WON`T ANSWER ANY MORE;
NOT THE WHISKEY DRINKIN` INDIAN,
NOT THE MARINE WHO WENT TO WAR.
[verse 4]:
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 HAD DONE -
AND WHEN DO THE INDIANS DANCE?
[Chorus]:
CALL HIM DRUNKEN IRA HAYES,
HE WON`T ANSWER ANY MORE;
NOT THE WHISKEY DRINKIN` INDIAN,
NOT THE MARINE WHO WENT TO WAR.
[verse 5]:
THEN IRA STARTED DRINKIN` HARD,
JAIL WAS OFTEN HIS HOME;
THEY LET HIM RAISE THE FLAG AND LOWER IT,
AS YOU WOULD THROW A DOG A BONE;
HE DIED DRUNK EARLY ONE MORNING,
ALONE IN THE LAND HE`D FOUGHT TO SAVE;
TWO INCHES OF WATER IN A LONELY DITCH -
WAS THE GRAVE FOR IRA HAYES.
[Chorus]:
CALL HIM DRUNKEN IRA HAYES,
HE WON`T ANSWER ANY MORE;
NOT THE WHISKEY DRINKIN` INDIAN,
NOT THE MARINE WHO WENT TO WAR.
[verse 6]:
YEAH! CALL HIM DRUNKEN IRA HAYES,
BUT HIS LAND IS JUST AS DRY,
AND THE GHOST IS LYING THIRSTY
IN THE DITCH WHERE IRA DIED.
Writer/s: PETER LAFARGE