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

@Indian @west @war @soldier @drink

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