Townes Van Zandt – Ballad Of Ira Hayes (Guitar)

           E                                  A
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore;

          B7                               A                  E
Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the marine that went to war.

      E                                    A
Come gather 'round me, people, there's a story I would tell

        B7                         A             E
About a brave young Indian, you should remember well;

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Frome the land of the Pima Indians, a proud and noble band,

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Who farmed the Phoenix Valley in Arizona land.

          E                                  A
Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkling water rushed

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Till the white man stole their water rights and their sparklin' water hushed

          E                                  A
Now Ira's folks were hungry and their land grew crops of weeds

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When war came Ira volunteered and forgot the white man's greed.

          E                                  A
Well, they battled up Iwo Jima Hill - two hundred and fity men,

         B7                               A            E
But only twenty-seven lived - to walk back down again;

          E                                  A
When the fight was over - and Old Glory raised,

         B7                               A                E
Among the men who held it high was the Indian - Ira Hayes.

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Ira Hayes returned a hero, celebrated throughout the land,

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He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand;

          E                                A
But he was just a Pima Indian, no water, no crops, no chance;

         B7                                  A                  E
And back home nobody cared what Ira'd done - and went to the Indians dance?

          E                                  A
Then Ira started drinin' hard - jail was often his home;

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They let him raise the flag and lower it, like you throw a dog a bone;

          E                                   A
He died drunk early one morning, alone in the land he'd fought to save;

         B7                               A                  E
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch - was the grave for Ira Hayes.

           E                                  A
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes - but his land is still as dry,

         B7                               A                 E
And his ghost is lying thirsty in the ditch where Ira died.

          E                                  A
Chorus: Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore;

         B7                               A                  E
Not the whiskey drinin' Indian, nor the marine that went to war