Pastures Of Plenty

It's a mighty hard road that my poor hands have hoed

My poor feet have traveled a hot, dusty road

Out of your dust bowls and westward we rode

Your deserts were hot and your mountains were cold

I've wandered all over this green growing land

Wherever your crops were, I've lent you my hands

On the edge of your city you'll see me and then, I come with the dust and I go with the wind.

California, Arizona, I've worked all your crops

Then it's North up to Oregon to gather your hops

Dig the beets from your ground

Cut the grapes from your vines to set on your table that light sparkling wine

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground from the Grand Coulee dam where the waters run down

Every state in the Union this migrant has been

I come with the dust and I go with the wind

It's always we ramble that river and I all along your green valley, I'll work 'til I die

And I'll travel this road until death sets me free for my pastures of plenty must always be green

I come with the dust and I go with the wind