Pastures of Plenty

It's a mighty hard road that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have travelled on a hard dusty road
Out of your dust bowl and westward, we rode
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, we harvest your crops
Then it's up north to Oregon to harvest your hops
Dig the beets from the 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'll work 'til I die
My land I'll defend with my life, if need be
'Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free