Luyện nghe bài hát The Ballad of Ira Hayes

Gather me people
A story I tell
About a young Indian lad
You should remember

From a tribe of Pima
A proud and peaceful
They farmed the Phoenix
Out in Arizona

Down ditches for a thousand years
The sparkling water
Till the white man their water rights
And the running water

folks was hungry
Their fields grew with weeds
But when war Ira volunteered
And the white mans greed

Call him Ira Hayes
He answer anymore
Not whiskey drinking Indian
Or Marine who to war

Well, they battled up Iwo Jima
Two and fifty men
But twenty-seven lived
To walk back down

And the fight was over
And Old Glory raised
the men who held her high
Stood an Indian, Ira

him drunken Ira Hayes
He answer anymore
Not that whiskey Indian
Or Marine who to war

Well, Ira returned a hero
Celebrated the land
He was wined and speeched and
Hell, everybody his hand

But he was just a Indian
No food, no friend, no
Back nobody cared what Ira had did
And do the Indians dance?

Well, Ira took to hard
Jail was his home
used to let him raise the flag there
And lower it just youd throw a dog a bone

And Ira died drunk one morning
All alone in the hed fought to save
Two inches of water in a ditch
Was the for Ira Hayes

him drunken Ira Hayes
He wont answer
Not that whiskey Indian
Or Marine who to war

Yeah, call him drunken Ira
But his land is as dry
And his ghost, well, its lying there
In the ditch Ira died

him drunken Ira Hayes
He wont answer
Not that whiskey Indian
Or Marine who to war