Pastures of Plenty

It's a mighty rough row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have travelled a hot dusty road
Out of your dust bowl, and westward we roll
And your desert was hot and your mountains was cold

Well, I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
Slept on the ground by the light of the moon
On the edge of the city you seen us, and then…
We come with the dust and we're gone with the wind

California, Arizona, I make all your crops
Then it's north up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vines
Just to set on your table your bright, sparkling wine

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the water washes 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 rambled, this river and I
All along the green valley I will work until I die
My land, with my life, I'll defend if need be
For my pastures of plenty must always be free
My land, with my life, I'll defend if need be
For my pastures of plenty must always be free