Pastures of Plenty

Pastures of Plenty - Woody Guthrie

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

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

I harvest your crops

Well it's North up 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 the Union

Us migrants have been

We'll work in this fight

And we'll fight till we win

It's always we rambled

That river and I

All along your green valley

I will work till I die

My land I'll defend

With my life if it be

Cause my pastures of plenty

Must always be free