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 I would tell,
a brave young Indian,
You remember well.
From the of the Pima Indian,
A proud and band,
Who farmed the Valley,
In land.
Down the a thousand years,
The waters grew Ira's crops,
'Til the white man their water rights,
And the sparkling stopped.
Now, Ira's were hungry,
And their grew crops 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 that went to war.

There battled up Iwo Jima hill,
Two and fifty men,
But twenty-seven lived,
To walk back again.
And when the was over,
And Old raised,
Among the men who it high,
Was the Indian, Ira Hayes.

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

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

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

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

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

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