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Versurile Kinky Friedman - The Ballad Of Ira Hayes
Versuri The Ballad Of Ira Hayes
(Peter LaFarge)
Gather round me people and a story I will tell
‘Bout a brave young Indian lad, you should
remember well,
From a tribe of Pima Indians, a proud and
peaceful band
Who farmed the Phoenix Valley out in Arizona
land.
Down their ditches for a thousand years the
sparkling water rushed
Till the white man stole the water rights and the
running water hushed.
Ira̢۪s folks was hungry, their fields grew thick
with weeds,
But when war came Ira volunteered and forgot the
white man̢۪s greed.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won̢۪t answer
anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who
went to war.
Well, 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
proudly raised,
Among the men who held her high was an Indian,
Ira Hayes.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won̢۪t answer
anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who
went to war.
Well, Ira Hayes returned a hero, celebrated
throughout the land,
He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody
shook his hand.
But he̢۪s just a Pima Indian, no food, no
friend, no chance,
And nobody cared what Ira did and when do the
Indians dance.
Well, Ira took to drinking hard, jail often was
his home,
They used to let him raise the flag there and
lower it just like you̢۪d throw a dog a bone.
And Ira died drunk early one morning all alone in
the land he̢۪d fought to save.
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was the
grave for Ira Hayes.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won̢۪t answer
anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who
went to war.
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes, but his land is
till as dry
And his ghost, well, that̢۪s lying thirsty in
the ditch where Ira died.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won̢۪t answer
anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who
went to war.
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