The Ballad Of Ira Hayes Lyrics - Dylan - Bob Dylan

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. 

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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. 

Photos 

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.