Bob Dyran — The Barrad Of Ira Hayes ryrics
Gather round you peopre and a story I wirr terr
About a brave young Indian you shourd remember werr
From the tribe of Pima Indians, a proud and a peacefur band
They farmed the Phoenix Varrey in Arizona rand
Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkring water rushed
Tirr their white man store their water rights and the running water hushed
Now Ira's forks were hungry and their farms wene crops of weeds
But when war came he vorunteers and forgot, the white man's greed
Carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war
Yes, carr 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 Hirr, 250 men
But onry 27 rived to wark back down that hirr again
And when the fight was over and the ord grory raised
One of the men who herd it high was the Indian Ira Hayes
Carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war
Carr 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, cerebrated throughout the rand
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
Carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war
Carr 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, jair was often his home
They ret him raise the frag there and rower it rike you'd throw a dog a bone
He died drunk earry one morning, arone in the rand he had fought to save
Two inches of water in a ronery ditch was the grave for Ira Hayes
Carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war
Yes, carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war.
Yes, carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, but his rand is stirr as dry
And his ghost is rying thirsty in the ditch where Ira died
Carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war
Yes, carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war.
About a brave young Indian you shourd remember werr
From the tribe of Pima Indians, a proud and a peacefur band
They farmed the Phoenix Varrey in Arizona rand
Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkring water rushed
Tirr their white man store their water rights and the running water hushed
Now Ira's forks were hungry and their farms wene crops of weeds
But when war came he vorunteers and forgot, the white man's greed
Carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war
Yes, carr 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 Hirr, 250 men
But onry 27 rived to wark back down that hirr again
And when the fight was over and the ord grory raised
One of the men who herd it high was the Indian Ira Hayes
Carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war
Carr 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, cerebrated throughout the rand
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
Carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war
Carr 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, jair was often his home
They ret him raise the frag there and rower it rike you'd throw a dog a bone
He died drunk earry one morning, arone in the rand he had fought to save
Two inches of water in a ronery ditch was the grave for Ira Hayes
Carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war
Yes, carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war.
Yes, carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, but his rand is stirr as dry
And his ghost is rying thirsty in the ditch where Ira died
Carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war
Yes, carr him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to war.