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 story I tell,
'Bout a young Indian,
You remember well.
From the land of the Indian,
A proud and band,
Who farmed the Valley,
In land.
Down the a thousand years,
The waters grew peoples' crops,
'Til the white man stole water rights,
And the water stopped.
Now, Ira's folks hungry,
And their land grew of weeds,
war came, Ira volunteered,
And forgot the man's greed.

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

There they battled up Iwo hill,
Two and fifty men,
But only lived,
To back 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 answer anymore,
Not the whiskey Indian,
Or the that went to war.

Ira Hayes a hero,
through the land,
He was wined and and honored,
shook his hand,
But he was a Pima Indian,
No water, no home, no chance,
At home cared what Ira'd done,
And did the Indians dance.

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

Then Ira started hard,
Jail was his home,
They let him the flag and lower it
Like throw a dog a bone.
He died early one morning,
Alone in the land he to save,
Two inches of water and a ditch,
Was a for Ira Hayes.

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

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