Pastures of Plenty

It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road Out of your dust bowl and westward we rolled 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 Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down Every state in the Union us migrants have been We work in this fight and we fight 'til we win It's always we rambled, that river and I All along your green valley, I'll work 'til I die My land I'll defend with my life, if it be My pastures of plenty must always be free