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The Ballad of IRA Hayes (Live) - Kinky Friedman

Written by：P. La Farge

Gather round me people a story I will tell

'Bout a brave young Indian lad you should remember well

From a tribe of Pima Indians a proud and peaceful band

Who farmed the Phoenix Valley out in Arizona land

Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkling water rushed

Till the white man stole the water rights and the running water hushed

Ira's folks was hungry their fields grew thick with weeds

But when war came Ira volunteered and forgot the white man's greed

Call him drunken Ira Hayes he won't answer anymore

Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war

Well they battled up Iwo Jima Hill two hundred and fifty men

But only twenty seven lived to walk back down again

And after the fight was over and Old Glory proudly raised

Among the men who held her high was an Indian Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes he won't answer anymore

Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war

Well Ira Hayes returned a hero celebrated throughout the land

He was wined and speeched and honored tell everybody shook his hand

But he's just a Pima Indian no food no friend no chance

Back home nobody cared what Ira did and when do the Indians dance

Well Ira took to drinking hard jail often was his home

They used to let him raise the flag there

And lower it just like you'd throw a dog a bone

And Ira died drunk early one morning all alone

In the land he'd fought to save

Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was the grave for Ira Hayes

Call him drunken Ira Hayes he won't answer anymore

Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war

Yeah call him drunken Ira Hayes but his lan is still is dry

And it's gost what is lan there thirty inthe dish where Ira died

Call him drunken Ira Hayes he won't answer anymore

Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war