Ira Hayes Ira Hayes call him drunken Ira Hayes he won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinking Indian nor the marine that went to war
Gather round me people there's a story I would tell Bout 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
Down their ditches for a thousand years the waters grew Ira's people's crops Till the white man stole their water right and their sparkling water stopped Now Ira's folks grew hungry and their land grew crops and weeds When war came Ira volunteered and forgot the white man's greed
Call him drunken Ira Hayes...
Well they battled up Iwo Jima Hill two hundred and fifty men But only 27 lived to walk back down again And when the fight was over and old glory raised Among the men who helt it high was the Indian Ira Hayes
Call him drunken Ira Hayes...
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's done and when do the Indians dance
Call him drunken Ira Hayes...
Then Ira started drinking hard jail was often his home They let him raise the flag and lower it like 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
Call him drunken Ira Hayes... Yeah call him drunken Ira Hayes but his land is just as dry And his ghost is laying thirsty in the ditch where Ira died
