Luyện nghe bài hát Ballad Of Ira Hayes

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

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

him drunken Ira Hayes,
He won't anymore,
Not the drinking Indian,
Or the that went to war.

There they up Iwo Jima hill,
Two and fifty men,
But twenty-seven lived,
To walk down 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 won't anymore,
Not the whiskey Indian,
Or the marine that to war.

Ira returned a hero,
through the land,
He was and speeched and honored,
shook his hand,
But he was just a Indian,
No water, no home, no chance,
At home nobody cared what done,
And when did the dance.

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

Then Ira drinking hard,
was often his home,
They let him raise the and lower it
Like throw a dog a bone.
He drunk early one morning,
Alone in the he fought to save,
Two inches of and a lonely ditch,
Was a for Ira Hayes.

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

Yeah, him drunken Ira Hayes,
But his land is as dry,
And his ghost is thirsty,
In the where Ira died.