Ballad Of Ira Hayes Lyrics - Bitter Tears (ballads Of The American Indian) - Johnny Cash

CHORUS: 

Call him drunken Ira Hayes 

He won't answer anymore 

Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian 

Nor the Marine that went to war 

Gather round me people there's a story I would tell 

About a brave young Indian you should remember well 

From the land of the Pima Indian 

A proud and noble band 

Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land 

Down the ditches for a thousand years 

The water grew Ira's peoples' crops 

'Till the white man stole the water rights 

And the sparklin' water stopped 

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Now Ira's folks were hungry 

And their land grew crops of weeds 

When war came, Ira volunteered 

And forgot the white man's greed 

CHORUS: 

Call him drunken Ira Hayes 

He won't answer anymore 

Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian 

Nor the Marine that went to war 

There 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 

Photos 

CHORUS: 

Call him drunken Ira Hayes 

He won't answer anymore 

Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian 

Nor the Marine that went to war 

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'd done 

And when did the Indians dance 

CHORUS: 

Call him drunken Ira Hayes 

He won't answer anymore 

Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian 

Nor the Marine that went to war 

Then 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! 

He died drunk early one mornin' 

Alone in the land he fought to save 

Two inches of water in a lonely ditch 

Was a grave for Ira Hayes 

CHORUS: 

Call him drunken Ira Hayes 

He won't answer anymore 

Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian 

Nor the Marine that went to war 

Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes 

But his land is just as dry 

And his ghost is lyin' thirsty 

In the ditch where Ira died