Pastures of Plenty

It's a mighty hard road that my poor hands have hoed My poor feet have travelled on a hard dusty road Out of your dust bowl and westward, we rode And your deserts were hot, and your mountains were 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, we harvest your crops Then it's up north to Oregon to harvest your hops Dig the beets from the 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 water runs down Every state in the union, us migrants have been We'll work in this fight and we'll fight 'til we win Well it's always we ramble, that river and I All along your green valley I'll work 'til I die My land I'll defend with my life, if need be 'Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free