BALLAD OF IRA HAYES
 
G                 C
Ira Hayes,  Ira Hayes.
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Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore     A-2-----2-----2-----| 
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Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the marine that went to war.    
                                     C 
Gather 'round me, people. There's a story I would tell
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About a brave young Indian you should remember well,
                                   C
From the land of the Pima Indians, a proud and Nobel band,
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Who farmed the Phoenix Valley in Arizona land.
                                         C
Down their ditches a thousand years, the waters grew Ira's people's crops
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Till the white man stole their water rights and the sparklin' water stopped.
                             C
Now, Ira's folks were hungry and their land grew crops of weeds.
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When the war came, Ira volunteered and forgot the white man's greed.
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Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore;     A-2-----2-----2-----|
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Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the marine that went to war.                
           G                          C
There they battled up Iwo Jima Hill; 250 men,
 D                    G
But only 27 lived to walk back down again.
                             C
And when the fight was over, and Old Glory raised,
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Among the men who held it high was the Indian, Ira Hayes.
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Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore;     A-2-----2-----2-----|
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Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the marine that went to war.   
                              C
Ira Hayes returned a hero, celebrated through the land.
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He was wined and speech and honored, ev'rybody shook his hand.
                               C
But he was just a Pima Indian; no water, no home, no chance.
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At home nobody cared what Ira had done. And when do the Indians dance?
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Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore;     A-2-----2-----2-----|
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Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the marine that went to war        
                                 C
Then Ira started drinkin' hard; jail was often his home.
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They let him raise the flag and lower it like you'd throw a dog a bone.
                                  C
He died drunk early one morning, alone in the land he fought to save.
 D                                            G
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was a grave for Ira Hayes.
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Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore;    A-2-----2-----2-----|
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Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the marine that went to war.                    
                G                  C
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes, but his land is just as dry,
 D                             G
And his ghost is lyin' thirsty in the ditch were Ira died.