Pastures Of Plenty Lyrics
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