| D | G | |
| Come g | ather 'round me, people, there's a st | ory I would tell |
| A7 | G | D | |
| About a b | rave young Indian, you shou | ld remember we | ll; |
| D | G | |
| Frome the | land of the Pima Indians, a p | roud and noble band, |
| A7 | G | D | |
| Who farmed the Phoenix Valley in A | rizona l | and. |
| Down their ditches for a thousand years the aparkling weater rushed |
| Till the white man stole their water rights and their sparklin' water hushed |
| Now Ira's folks were hungry and their land grew crops of weeds |
| When war came Ira volunteered and forgot the white man's greed. |
| Chorus |
| D | G | |
| Call him dr | unken Ira Hayes, He won't answer an | ymore; |
| A7 | G | D | |
| Not the wh | iskey drinkin' indian, not the ma | rine that went to w | ar. |