Call him drunken ira hayes,
He won't answer any more;
Not the whiskey drinkin' indian,
Not the marine who 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 indians -
A proud and noble band,
Who farmed the phoenix valley -
In arizona land.:
Down their ditches for a thousand years -
The waters grew ira's people's crops,
Till the white man stole their water rights -
And their sparklin' water stopped.
Now ira's folks grew 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 any more;
Not the whiskey drinkin' indian,
Not the marine who went to war.:
Well, they battle up iwo jima hill -
Two hundred and fifty men,
But only twenty seven lived
To walk back down again;
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 any more;
Not the whiskey drinkin' indian,
Not the marine who went to war.:
Ira hayes returned a hero,
Celebrated throughout 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 had done -
And when do the indians dance?:
Call him drunken ira hayes,
He won't answer any more;
Not the whiskey drinkin' indian,
Not the marine who went to war.:
Then ira started drinkin' hard,
Jail was often his home;
They let him raise the flag and lower it,
As you would 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.:
Call him drunken ira hayes,
He won't answer any more;
Not the whiskey drinkin' indian,
Not the marine who went to war.:
Yeah! call him drunken ira hayes,
But his land is just as dry,
And the ghost is lying thirsty
In the ditch where ira died.