Bob Dylan The Ballad of ira Hayes Letras:
Gather round you people and a story I will tell
About a brave young Indian you should remember
well From the tribe of Pima Indians, a proud and a
peaceful band They farmed the Phoenix Valley in
Arizona land Down their ditches for a thousand
years the sparkling water rushed Till their white
man stole their water rights and the running water
hushed Now Ira's folks were hungry and their farms
wene crops of weeds But when war came he
volunteers and forgot, the white man's greed Call
him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war Yes, call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he
won't answer anymore Not the whiskey-drinking
Indian or the marine who went to war.

They started up Iwo Jima Hill, 250 men But only 27
lived to walk back down that hill again And when
the fight was over and the old glory raised One of
the men who held it high was the Indian Ira Hayes
Call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer
anymore Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the
marine who went to war Call him, Drunken Ira
Hayes, he won't answer anymore Not the
whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to
war.
[Más Letras en http://es.mp3lyrics.org/ab3]

Now Ira 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 money crops, no chance And at home
nobody cared what Ira had done and the wind did
the Indian's dance Call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he
won't answer anymore Not the whiskey-drinking
Indian or the marine who went to war Call him,
Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore Not the
whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to
war.

And Ira started drinking hard, jail was often his
home They let him raise the flag there and lower
it like you'd throw a dog a bone He died drunk
early one morning, alone in the land he had 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 the
whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who went to
war Yes, call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't
answer anymore Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or
the marine who went to war.

Yes, call him, Drunken Ira Hayes, but his land is
still as dry And his ghost is lying thirsty in the
ditch where Ira died Call him, Drunken Ira Hayes,
he won't answer anymore Not the whiskey-drinking
Indian or the marine who went to war Yes, call
him, Drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore
Not the whiskey-drinking Indian or the marine who
went to war.
Letras: The Ballad of ira Hayes Bob Dylan [final]