The Ballad Of Ira Hayes — текст песни (Johnny Cash)

Ira Hayes,

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



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



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



[CHORUS:]

Call him drunken Ira Hayes

He won`t answer anymore

Not the whiskey drinkin` Indian

Nor the Marine that went to war



Ira 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 crops, 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 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