Luyện nghe bài hát Ballad Of Ira Hayes

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

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

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

There battled up Iwo Jima hill,
Two and fifty men,
But twenty-seven lived,
To walk 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 drinking Indian,
Or the marine that to war.

Ira Hayes a hero,
through 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 nobody what Ira'd done,
And did the Indians 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,
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 of water 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 is just as dry,
And his is lying thirsty,
In the where Ira died.