The sweat upon his brow and the dirt worked into his hands The dignity of labour upon a man's own land The soil of his fathers passes on down through blood to hand A man's right of birth to reap the harvest from his land
The breaking of his back to keep his dream alive To work the change of season his instinct to survive The planting of his seed and to see his harvest grow Gives a pride to a man to reap the harvest that he sows
The land of the free, home of the brave The heartland of pioneers, the heritage of flesh and blood And along come the winds that blow through the land With a price to pay for the working man Money talks and changes hands And money reaps the harvest money demands The grapes of wrath
The can take away his freedom they can beat him into the dust They can burn his home, run him from his land, and leave him out to gather rust But they can't take away his faith and his honesty and pride and the knowledge that he holds inside One day they'll reap the harvest The grapes of wrath
There's hope in a man that nothing can destroy A man will endure anything for the dream that he holds dear And there's pride in a man who knows the truth His faith in the earth he toils for His honesty for the air he breathes The truth of the harvest they will reap The grapes of wrathTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
