A              D          
Ira Hayes  Ira Hayes 
                   A  
{CHORUS:} Call him drunken Ira Hayes 
         D 
he wonFt answer anymore 
        E 
not the whiskey drinkinF Indian  
        A 
nor the Marine that went to war 
 
A                                   D 
Gather round me people    thereFs a story I would tell 
        E                      A 
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 IraFs peoples crops 
till the white man stole the water rights and the sparklin water stopped 
 
Now IraFs folks were hungry and their land grew crops of weeds 
When war came, Ira volunteered and forgot the white manFs greed 
{CHORUS} 
There they battled up Iwo JimaFs 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 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 IraFd done and when did the Indians dance 
{CHORUS:} 
Then Ira started drinkinF hard; jail was often his home 
theyFd let him raise the flag and lower it 
like youFd throw a dog a bone! 
 
He died drunk one morninF alone in the land he fought to save 
two inches of water in a lonely ditch was a grave for Ira Hayes 
{CHORUS:} 
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes but his land is just as dry 
and his ghost is lyinF thirsty in the ditch where Ira died 

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