IRA HAYES
by Peter LaFarge
(verses spoken, chorus sung)
Gather round me 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 peaceful band
Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land
Down their ditches for a thousand years
the sparkling water rushed
Till the white man stole their water rights
and the running water hushed
Now Ira's folks were hungry and their farm grew crops of weeds
But when war came, he volunteered
and forgot the white man's greed
Ira Hayes, Ira Hayes
Call him drunken Ira hayes
He won't answer any more
Not the whiskey drinking Indian
Nor the Marine who went to war
They started up Ira Jima hill, two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty seven lived to walk back down again
And when the fight was over and Old Glory raised
Among the men who held it high was the Indian, 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 money, no crops, no chance
At home nobody cared what Ira'd done
and when do the Indians dance?
Then Ira started drinking hard, jail often was his home
They let him raise the flag there and lower it
as you'd 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
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
words and tune by Peter LaFarge
Unknown - Ira Hayes Lyrics
Unknown - Ira Hayes Lyrics
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IRA HAYES
by Peter LaFarge
(verses spoken, chorus sung)
Gather round me 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 peaceful band
Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land
Down their ditches for a thousand years
the sparkling water rushed
Till the white man stole their water rights
and the running water hushed
Now Ira's folks were hungry and their farm grew crops of weeds
But when war came, he volunteered
and forgot the white man's greed
Ira Hayes, Ira Hayes
Call him drunken Ira hayes
He won't answer any more
Not the whiskey drinking Indian
Nor the Marine who went to war
They started up Ira Jima hill, two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty seven lived to walk back down again
And when the fight was over and Old Glory raised
Among the men who held it high was the Indian, 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 money, no crops, no chance
At home nobody cared what Ira'd done
and when do the Indians dance?
Then Ira started drinking hard, jail often was his home
They let him raise the flag there and lower it
as you'd 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
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
words and tune by Peter LaFarge
by Peter LaFarge
(verses spoken, chorus sung)
Gather round me 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 peaceful band
Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land
Down their ditches for a thousand years
the sparkling water rushed
Till the white man stole their water rights
and the running water hushed
Now Ira's folks were hungry and their farm grew crops of weeds
But when war came, he volunteered
and forgot the white man's greed
Ira Hayes, Ira Hayes
Call him drunken Ira hayes
He won't answer any more
Not the whiskey drinking Indian
Nor the Marine who went to war
They started up Ira Jima hill, two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty seven lived to walk back down again
And when the fight was over and Old Glory raised
Among the men who held it high was the Indian, 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 money, no crops, no chance
At home nobody cared what Ira'd done
and when do the Indians dance?
Then Ira started drinking hard, jail often was his home
They let him raise the flag there and lower it
as you'd 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
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
words and tune by Peter LaFarge