Pastures of Plenty

It's a mighty hard row my poor hands have hoed
 My poor feet have travelled this hot dusty road
 Out of your dustbowl and westward we roam
 Through deserts so hot and through mountains so cold
 I've wandered all over your green, growing land
 Wherever your crops are, I'll lend you my hand
 On the edge of your cities, you'll see me and then
 I come with the dust and I'm gone with the wind
 California, Arizona, I've worked on your crops
 And northward up to Oregon to gather your hops
 I've dug beets from the ground, I've cut grapes from the vine
 To set at your table that white sparkling wine
 Green pastures of plenty from the dry desert ground
 From the grand Coolie dam where the waters run down
 In every state of this union we migrants have been
 We work on the land and we'll fight until we win
 It's always we ramble, that river and I
 All along your green valleys I'll work 'til I die
 Travel this road until death sets me free
 'Cause pastures of plenty must always be free
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