The Ballad Of Ira Hayes lyrics

Artist  : Bob Dylan 
Song : The Ballad Of Ira Hayes
 
Gather round you people and a story I will tell
About a brave young Indian you should remember
well
From the tribe of Pima Indians, a proud and a
peaceful band
They farmed the Phoenix Valley in Arizona land
Down their ditches for a thousand years the
sparkling water rushed
Till their white man stole their water rights and
the running water hushed
Now Ira's folks were hungry and their farms wene
crops of weeds
But when war came he volunteers and forgot, the
white man's greed
Call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war
Yes, call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war.

They started up Iwo Jima Hill, 250 men
But only 27 lived to walk back down that hill
again
And when the fight was over and the old glory
raised
One of the men who held it high was the Indian
Ira Hayes
Call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war
Call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war.

Now Ira returned a hero, celebrated throughout
the land
He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody
shook his hand
But he was just a Pima Indian, no money crops, no
chance
And at home nobody cared what Ira had done and
the wind did the Indian's dance
Call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war
Call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war.

And Ira started drinking hard, jail was often his
home
They let him raise the flag there and lower it
like you'd throw a dog a bone
He died drunk early one morning, alone in the
land he had 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 the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war
Yes, call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war.

Yes, call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, but his land is
still as dry
And his ghost is lying thirsty in the ditch where
Ira died
Call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war
Yes, call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war.