Letras
It's a mighty long road that these poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled the hot dusty road
Out of your dust bowl and westward we rode
The deserts were hot and your mountains were cold
I've wandered all over this green growing land
Wherever your crops are I've lent you my hand
On the edge of your city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind
California, Arizona, I've picked all your crops
Then it's on up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from the ground, pick the grape from the vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
To the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in this union us migrants have been
We'll work in this fight and we'll fight 'til we win
It's always we rambled, that river and I
I'll roam your green valleys, I'll work 'til I die
This land I'll defend from corporate greed
For the pastures of plenty must always be free