Ballad Of Ira Hayes

Ira Haye[A]s,  Ira Haye[D]s.
 Call him [A]drunken Ira Hayes, he won't [D]answer anymore;
 not the [E]whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the m[A]arine that went to war.
[A] Gather 'round me, people. There's a [D]story I would tell
 [E]'bout a brave young Indian yo[A]u should remember well,
 from the land of the Pima Indians,[D]  a proud and nobel band,
 [E]who farmed the Phoenix Valley in[A] Arizona land.
 [A]Down their ditches a thousand years, the w[D]aters grew Ira's people's crops
 till the [E]white man stole their water rights and the [A]sparklin' water stopped.
 Now, Ira's folks were hungry a[D]nd their land grew crops of weeds.
 [E]When the war came, Ira volunteered a[A]nd forgot the white man's greed.
 Call him [A]drunken Ira Hayes, he won't a[D]nswer anymore;
 not the [E]whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the ma[A]rine that went to war.
 There they [A]battled up Iwo Jima Hill;[D] 250 men,
[E] but only 27 lived to [A]walk back down again.
 And when the fight was over, [D]and Old Glory raised,
[E] among the men who held it high was the [A]Indian, Ira Hayes.
 Call him [A]drunken Ira Hayes, he won't [D]answer anymore;
 not the [E]whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the ma[A]rine that went to war.
 Ira [A]Hayes returned a hero, c[D]elebrated through the land.
 He was [E]wined and speeched and honored, ev[A]'rybody shook his hand.
 But he was just a Pima Indian; [D]no water, no home, no chance.
 At [E]home nobody cared what Ira had done.
 And [A]when do the Indians dance?
 Call him [A]drunken Ira Hayes, he won't a[D]nswer anymore;
 not the [E]whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the m[A]arine that went to war.
 Then [A]Ira started drinkin' hard[D]; jail was often his home.
 They [E]let him raise the flag and lower it like [A]you'd throw a dog a bone.
 He died drunk early one morning[D], alone in the land he fought to save.
[E] Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was a g[A]rave for Ira Hayes.
 Call him [A]drunken Ira Hayes, he won't a[D]nswer anymore;
 not the [E]whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the [A]marine that went to war.
 Yeah, call him [A]drunken Ira Hayes[D], but his land is just as dry,
[E] and his ghost is lyin' thirsty[A] in the ditch were Ira died.