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The Ballad of Boot Hill

Ira Hayes

Ira HayesCall him drunken Ira Hayes

He won't answer anymore

Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian

Nor the Marine that went to warGather 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 landDown the ditches for a thousand years

The water grew Ira's peoples' crops

'Till the white man stole the water rights

And the sparklin' water stoppedNow Ira's folks were hungry

And their land grew crops of weeds

When war came, Ira volunteered

And forgot the white man's greedCall him drunken Ira Hayes

He won't answer anymore

Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian

Nor the Marine that went to warThere they battled up Iwo Jima's hill

Two hundred and fifty men

But only twenty-seven

Lived to walk back down againAnd when the fight was over

And when Old Glory raised

Among the men who held it high

Was the Indian, Ira HayesCall him drunken Ira Hayes

He won't answer anymore

Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian

Nor the Marine that went to warIra returned a hero

Celebrated through the land

He was wined and speeched and honored

Everybody shook his handBut he was just a Pima Indian

No water, no crops, no chance

At home nobody cared what Ira'd done

And when did the Indians danceCall him drunken Ira Hayes

He won't answer anymore

Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian

Nor the Marine that went to warThen 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 boneHe died drunk one mornin'

Alone in the land he fought to save

Two inches of water in a lonely ditch

Was a grave for Ira HayesCall him drunken Ira Hayes

He won't answer anymore

Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian

Nor the Marine that went to warYeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes

But his land is just as dry

And his ghost is lyin' thirsty

In the ditch where Ira died

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