E                            A 
Come gather round me people, there?s a story I would tell 
        B7                          A               E  
about a brave young Indian that you should remember well 
         E                        A 
From the land of the Pima Indian, a proud and noble band 
B7                               A       E 
Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land 
 
 
Down the ditches for ten thousand years the sparkling waters rushed 
And the white man stole the water rights and all the running water hushed 
Now Ira?s folks were hungry, their land grew crops of weeds 
When war came, Ira volunteered and forgot the white man?s greed 
 

[Refrão]
         E 
Call him drunken Ira Hayes 
         A 
He won?t answer anymore 
        B7 
Not the whiskey drinkin Indian  
        A                   E   
Nor the Marine that went to war 
 
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 
 
Ira came back a hero celebrated through the land 
He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand 
But he was just a Pima Indian, he had no money, no home, no chance 
In Arizona no one cared what Ira?d done cause when do the Indians dance 
 
So 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 
Well, He died drunk early one morning. all alone in the land he fought to save 
Two inches of water in a lonesome ditch was a grave for Ira Hayes 
 
Chorus 
 
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes but his land is still as dry 
And his ghost is lyin thirsty inside the ditch where Ira died