The Ballad of Ira Hayes
By
Johnny Cash
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Ira Hayes
Ira Hayes
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 their ditches of a thousand years, the water grew Ira's people's crops
Till the white man stole their water rights and the sparkling 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
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 Old Glory raised
Among the men who held it high was the Indian, Ira Hayes
Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war
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 water, no home, no chance
At home nobody cared what Ira'd done, and when did the Indians dance
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 early one mornin', alone in the land he fought to save
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was a grave for Ira Hayes
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 lying thirsty in the ditch where Ira died
