Luyện nghe bài hát The Ballad of Ira Hayes

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

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

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

There they battled up Iwo hill,
Two and fifty men,
But only 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 went to war.

Ira Hayes a hero,
Celebrated 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 nobody cared what done,
And when did the dance.

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

Ira started drinking hard,
Jail was his home,
let him raise the flag and lower it
Like throw a dog a bone.
He died drunk one morning,
in the land he fought to save,
Two inches of and a lonely ditch,
Was a for Ira Hayes.

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

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