Pastures of Plenty

It's a mighty hard row my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled this hot dusty road
Out of your dustbowl and westward we rolled
Your deserts were hot and your mountains were cold

I've worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
Slept on the ground by the light of the moon
On the edge of your cities you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we're gone with the wind

California, Arizona, I've worked on your crops
Then northward up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, take the grapes from your vine
To set on your table that light, sparkling wine

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in this Union the migrants have been
We'll work in your fight and we'll fight till 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
For your pastures of plenty must always be free.

By Woody Guthrie, ©TRO/Ludlow Music. The tune is an adaptation of the traditional Appalachian song "Pretty Polly."

See also: Woody Guthrie's original lyrics.