It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed   My poor feet have traveled that hot dusty road   Out of the dust bowl and westward we rolled   Your desert was hot and your mountains were cold      I've worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes   I've slept on the ground in the light of your moon   On the edge of your city you've seen us and then   We come with the dust and we go with the wind      California, arizona, I make all your crops   Then north up to oregon to gather your hogs   Pull 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 in this union us migrants have been   We'll work in your fight and we'll fight til we win      Well it's always we ramble that river and i   All along your green valley I'll work til I die   My land I'll defend with my life if need be   Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free