Chords for Johnny Cash - The Ballad Of Ira Hayes (Live at Newport 1964)
Tempo:
79.95 bpm
Chords used:
Bb
F
Eb
Fm
Bbm
Tuning:Standard Tuning (EADGBE)Capo:+0fret
Jam Along & Learn...
Ira Hayes was a great hero.
The song was written by Peter Lafarge.
It's our latest [C] recording on Columbia.
We don't try to be too commercial with our recordings, but if you'd like it, it's Columbia record number CO128346.
[Bb] Call him droppin' Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to [Bb] war.
Gather round me people, [Eb] there's a story I would tell, [F] about a brave young Indian we should remember well.
From the tribe [Bb] of the Pima Indian, a proud and peaceful band [F] who farmed the Phoenix Valley [Bb] in Arizona land.
Down their [F] ditches for a thousand years, the waters grew Ira's people's crops,
[F] till the white man stole the water rights and the sparkling water stopped.
Now Ira's folks were [Fm] hungry, [Bb] and their land grew crops of weeds, [F] but when war came, Ira [Fm] volunteered and forgot the [Bb] white man's greed.
Call him droppin' Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to war.
[Bb] There they battled up Iwo Jima Hill, 250 men, [F] but only 27 lived to [Bb] fight back down again.
[Bbm] And when that fight was over, [Bb] and [Eb] when old glory raised, [F] among the men who held it high was the Indian, Ira Hayes.
Call him droppin' Ira [Eb] Hayes, he won't [Bb] answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, [Bb] nor the Marine that went to war.
Ira Hayes returned a hero, [Eb] celebrated through [Bb] the land.
He [F] was wined and speeched and honored.
Everybody shook his hand, but [Bb] he was just a Pima Indian.
No water, no crops, no chance.
[F] At home nobody cared what Ira had done, and when did the Indians dance.
Then Ira started drinkin' hard.
[Bb] Jail was often his home.
[F] There they let him raise the flag and lure it, like you'd throw a dog a ball.
He died [Bb] drunk early one morning, alone in a land he fought to save.
Two inches of [Fm] water and a lonely bitch was a grave [Bb] for Ira Hayes.
[F] Call him drunken Ira Hayes, [Bb] he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to [Bbm] war.
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes, [Eb] but his land is just as dry, [F] and his ghost is lyin' thirsty in the ditch [Bb] where Ira died.
The song was written by Peter Lafarge.
It's our latest [C] recording on Columbia.
We don't try to be too commercial with our recordings, but if you'd like it, it's Columbia record number CO128346.
[Bb] Call him droppin' Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to [Bb] war.
Gather round me people, [Eb] there's a story I would tell, [F] about a brave young Indian we should remember well.
From the tribe [Bb] of the Pima Indian, a proud and peaceful band [F] who farmed the Phoenix Valley [Bb] in Arizona land.
Down their [F] ditches for a thousand years, the waters grew Ira's people's crops,
[F] till the white man stole the water rights and the sparkling water stopped.
Now Ira's folks were [Fm] hungry, [Bb] and their land grew crops of weeds, [F] but when war came, Ira [Fm] volunteered and forgot the [Bb] white man's greed.
Call him droppin' Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to war.
[Bb] There they battled up Iwo Jima Hill, 250 men, [F] but only 27 lived to [Bb] fight back down again.
[Bbm] And when that fight was over, [Bb] and [Eb] when old glory raised, [F] among the men who held it high was the Indian, Ira Hayes.
Call him droppin' Ira [Eb] Hayes, he won't [Bb] answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, [Bb] nor the Marine that went to war.
Ira Hayes returned a hero, [Eb] celebrated through [Bb] the land.
He [F] was wined and speeched and honored.
Everybody shook his hand, but [Bb] he was just a Pima Indian.
No water, no crops, no chance.
[F] At home nobody cared what Ira had done, and when did the Indians dance.
Then Ira started drinkin' hard.
[Bb] Jail was often his home.
[F] There they let him raise the flag and lure it, like you'd throw a dog a ball.
He died [Bb] drunk early one morning, alone in a land he fought to save.
Two inches of [Fm] water and a lonely bitch was a grave [Bb] for Ira Hayes.
[F] Call him drunken Ira Hayes, [Bb] he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to [Bbm] war.
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes, [Eb] but his land is just as dry, [F] and his ghost is lyin' thirsty in the ditch [Bb] where Ira died.
100% ➙ 80BPM
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Eb
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_ _ _ Ira Hayes _ was a great hero.
The song was written by Peter Lafarge.
It's our latest _ [C] recording on Columbia.
We don't try to be too commercial with our recordings, but if you'd like it, it's Columbia record number CO128346.
[Bb] _ _ _ _ Call him droppin' Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to [Bb] war. _ _ _
_ _ _ Gather round me people, [Eb] there's a story I would tell, [F] about a brave young Indian we should remember well.
From the tribe [Bb] of the Pima Indian, a proud and peaceful band [F] who farmed the Phoenix Valley [Bb] in Arizona land.
Down their [F] ditches for a thousand years, the waters grew Ira's people's crops,
[F] till the white man stole the water rights and the sparkling water stopped.
Now Ira's folks were [Fm] hungry, [Bb] and their land grew crops of weeds, [F] but when war came, Ira [Fm] volunteered and forgot the [Bb] white man's greed.
Call him droppin' Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to war.
[Bb] There _ _ _ _ they battled up Iwo Jima Hill, 250 men, [F] but only 27 lived to [Bb] fight back down again.
[Bbm] And when that fight was over, [Bb] and [Eb] when old glory raised, [F] among the men who held it high was the Indian, Ira Hayes.
Call him droppin' Ira [Eb] Hayes, he won't [Bb] answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, [Bb] nor the Marine that went to war. _ _
Ira Hayes returned a hero, [Eb] celebrated through [Bb] the land.
He [F] was wined and speeched and honored.
Everybody shook his hand, but [Bb] he was just a Pima Indian.
No water, no crops, no chance.
[F] At home nobody cared what Ira had done, and when did the Indians dance. _
Then Ira started drinkin' hard.
[Bb] Jail was often his home.
[F] There they let him raise the flag and lure it, like you'd throw a dog a ball.
He died [Bb] drunk early one morning, alone in a land he fought to save.
Two inches of [Fm] water and a lonely bitch was a grave [Bb] for Ira Hayes.
[F] Call him drunken Ira Hayes, [Bb] he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to [Bbm] war.
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes, [Eb] but his land is just as dry, [F] and his ghost is lyin' thirsty in the ditch [Bb] where Ira died. _ _ _ _
The song was written by Peter Lafarge.
It's our latest _ [C] recording on Columbia.
We don't try to be too commercial with our recordings, but if you'd like it, it's Columbia record number CO128346.
[Bb] _ _ _ _ Call him droppin' Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to [Bb] war. _ _ _
_ _ _ Gather round me people, [Eb] there's a story I would tell, [F] about a brave young Indian we should remember well.
From the tribe [Bb] of the Pima Indian, a proud and peaceful band [F] who farmed the Phoenix Valley [Bb] in Arizona land.
Down their [F] ditches for a thousand years, the waters grew Ira's people's crops,
[F] till the white man stole the water rights and the sparkling water stopped.
Now Ira's folks were [Fm] hungry, [Bb] and their land grew crops of weeds, [F] but when war came, Ira [Fm] volunteered and forgot the [Bb] white man's greed.
Call him droppin' Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to war.
[Bb] There _ _ _ _ they battled up Iwo Jima Hill, 250 men, [F] but only 27 lived to [Bb] fight back down again.
[Bbm] And when that fight was over, [Bb] and [Eb] when old glory raised, [F] among the men who held it high was the Indian, Ira Hayes.
Call him droppin' Ira [Eb] Hayes, he won't [Bb] answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, [Bb] nor the Marine that went to war. _ _
Ira Hayes returned a hero, [Eb] celebrated through [Bb] the land.
He [F] was wined and speeched and honored.
Everybody shook his hand, but [Bb] he was just a Pima Indian.
No water, no crops, no chance.
[F] At home nobody cared what Ira had done, and when did the Indians dance. _
Then Ira started drinkin' hard.
[Bb] Jail was often his home.
[F] There they let him raise the flag and lure it, like you'd throw a dog a ball.
He died [Bb] drunk early one morning, alone in a land he fought to save.
Two inches of [Fm] water and a lonely bitch was a grave [Bb] for Ira Hayes.
[F] Call him drunken Ira Hayes, [Bb] he won't answer anymore.
[F] Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian, nor the Marine that went to [Bbm] war.
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes, [Eb] but his land is just as dry, [F] and his ghost is lyin' thirsty in the ditch [Bb] where Ira died. _ _ _ _