Текст песни
Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not that whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war
Come gather 'round me, people
And a story I will tell
About a brave young Indian
You should remember well
From a tribe of Pima Indians
A proud and peaceful band
That farm the Phoenix Valley
In the Arizona land
Down their ditches for a thousand years
The sparkling water rushed
'Til the white man stole their water rights
And the running water hushed
Well, Ira's folks was hungry
And their farms grew crops of weeds
But when war came, he volunteered
And forgot the white man's greed
Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not that whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war
They battled up Iwo Jima Hill
Two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived
To walk back down again
And after the fight was over
And Old Glory raised
Among the men that held her high
Was the Indian, Ira Hayes
Call him drunken Ira Hayes
He won't answer anymore
Not that 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's just a Pima Indian
No water, no crops, no chance
Back home nobody cared what Ira had done
And when do the Indians dance?
Well, Ira, he started drinkin' hard
Jail often was his home
They'd let him raise the flag there and lower it
Like you'd throw a dog a bone
He died drunk early one morning
All alone in the land that 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 anymore
Not that whiskey drinkin' Indian
Nor the Marine that went to war
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes
But his land is still as dry
And his ghost is lyin' thirsty
In the ditch where Ira died