It's a mighty hard road that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
Your desert was hot and your mountain was cold

I've worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
Slept on the ground 'neath the light of your moon
On the edge of your city you'll see me and then
I come with the dust and I go with the wind

California, Arizona, I've been on your crops
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 of this Union us migrants have been
We come with the dust and we go with the wind

It's always we ramble, this river and I
All along your green valley, I'll work till I die
My land I'll defend with my life if need be
For my pastures of plenty must always be free

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