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 marine that to war.

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

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

There battled up Iwo Jima hill,
Two hundred and men,
But twenty-seven lived,
To back down again.
And the fight 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 went to war.

Ira returned a hero,
Celebrated the land,
He was wined and and honored,
Everybody his hand,
But he was just a Indian,
No water, no home, no chance,
At home cared what Ira'd done,
And when did the dance.

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

Then Ira drinking hard,
was often his home,
They let him the flag and lower it
you'd throw a dog a bone.
He died drunk one morning,
Alone in the he fought to save,
Two inches of water and a ditch,
Was a for Ira Hayes.

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

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