Pastures Of Plenty

It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands has hoed

My poor feet has traveled a hot dusty road

Out of your dustbowl and westward we rode

And your deserts was hot and your mountains was cold.

I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes

I slept on the ground in the light of the moon

On the edge of the city you'll see us and then

We come with the dust and we go with the wind.

California, Arizona, I make all your crops

Well it's up north to Oregon to gather your hops,

Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine

To set on your table your light sparkling wine.

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground

From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down

Every state in this Union us migrants has been

We'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we win.

It's always we ramble that river and I

All along your green valley I will work until I die.

My land I'll defend with my life if need be

'Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free.