Luyện nghe bài hát The Ballad of Ira Hayes

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

Gather me people,
There's a story I tell,
a brave young Indian,
You should well.
the land of the Pima Indian,
A proud and band,
Who the Phoenix Valley,
In land.
Down the a thousand years,
The waters grew peoples' crops,
the white man stole their water rights,
And the water stopped.
Now, Ira's folks 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 whiskey Indian,
Or the that went to war.

There battled up Iwo Jima hill,
Two hundred and men,
But twenty-seven lived,
To walk back 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 went to war.

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

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

Then Ira drinking hard,
Jail was his home,
They let him raise the flag and 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 is lying thirsty,
In the where Ira died.