Luyện nghe bài hát Ballad Of Ira Hayes

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Ira Hayes...
Ira Hayes...
Call him Ira Hayes,
He answer anymore,
Not the drinking Indian,
Or the marine that to war.

'round me people,
There's a I would tell,
'Bout a young Indian,
You should well.
the land of the Pima Indian,
A and noble band,
Who farmed the Valley,
In land.
Down the a thousand years,
The grew Ira's peoples' crops,
'Til the white man stole water rights,
And the water stopped.
Now, folks were hungry,
And their grew crops of weeds,
war came, Ira volunteered,
And forgot the white greed.

Call him Ira Hayes,
He answer anymore,
Not the drinking Indian,
Or the marine that to war.

There they battled up Iwo hill,
Two and fifty men,
But twenty-seven lived,
To walk back again.
And when the was over,
And Old raised,
the men who held it high,
Was the Indian, Ira Hayes.

Call him Ira Hayes,
He answer anymore,
Not the drinking Indian,
Or the marine that to war.

Ira Hayes a hero,
Celebrated the land,
He was wined and and honored,
shook his hand,
But he was just a Indian,
No water, no home, no chance,
At home nobody cared Ira'd done,
And when did the dance.

Call him Ira Hayes,
He answer anymore,
Not the drinking Indian,
Or the that went to war.

Then Ira drinking hard,
Jail was his home,
They let him the flag and lower it
Like you'd a dog a bone.
He drunk early one morning,
Alone in the land he to save,
Two inches of and a lonely ditch,
Was a for Ira Hayes.

him drunken Ira Hayes,
He answer anymore,
Not the drinking Indian,
Or the marine went to war.

Yeah, call him Ira Hayes,
But his is just as dry,
And his ghost is thirsty,
In the ditch Ira died.