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 whiskey Indian,
Or the marine that to war.

'round me people,
There's a story I tell,
'Bout a brave Indian,
You remember well.
From the of the Pima Indian,
A proud and band,
Who the Phoenix Valley,
In land.
Down the ditches a years,
The waters Ira's peoples' crops,
'Til the white man stole their rights,
And the water stopped.
Now, Ira's were hungry,
And their land crops of weeds,
war came, Ira volunteered,
And forgot the white greed.

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

There they up Iwo Jima hill,
Two hundred and 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 answer anymore,
Not the whiskey Indian,
Or the marine that to war.

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

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

Ira started drinking hard,
Jail was his home,
let him raise the flag and lower it
Like you'd a dog a bone.
He died early 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 won't anymore,
Not the drinking Indian,
Or the marine went to war.

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