E A
Come gather round me people, there?s a story I would tell
B7 A E
about a brave young Indian that you should remember well
E A
From the land of the Pima Indian, a proud and noble band
B7 A E
Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land
Down the ditches for ten thousand years the sparkling waters rushed
And the white man stole the water rights and all the running water hushed
Now Ira?s folks were hungry, their land grew crops of weeds
When war came, Ira volunteered and forgot the white man?s greed
E
Call him drunken Ira Hayes
A
He won?t answer anymore
B7
Not the whiskey drinkin Indian
A E
Nor the Marine that went to war
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
Ira came back a hero celebrated through the land
He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand
But he was just a Pima Indian, he had no money, no home, no chance
In Arizona no one cared what Ira?d done cause when do the Indians dance
So 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
Well, He died drunk early one morning. all alone in the land he fought to save
Two inches of water in a lonesome ditch was a grave for Ira Hayes
Chorus
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes but his land is still as dry
And his ghost is lyin thirsty inside the ditch where Ira died