Pastures of Plenty

It's a mighty hard row that my poor hand has hoed

My poor feet has traveled a hot dusty road

Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled

And your desert was hot and your mountains was cold

I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes

I slept on the ground in the light of your 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 and Arizona, I make all your crops

And 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 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 will work 'til I die

My land I'll defend with my life if it be

'Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free