Letras
It's a mighty hard road that my poor hand has hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your dust bowl and westwards we rolled
And your desert was hot and your mountains was cold
Arizona, California I'll make all your crops
Then it's north up to Oregon to gather your hops
Pick the fruit from your orchard and the grapes from your vines
To set on your table your light sparkling wine
Well, it's always we rambled, that river and I
Down along your green valley I will work till I die
And this land I'll defend with my life if it be
Because my pastures of plenty must always be free
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in this union us migrants has been
We'll work in your fight and we'll fight till we win
Yeah, we work in your orchards of peaches and prunes
Sleep on the ground 'neath the light of your moon
On the edge of your cities you will see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind