Pastures of plenty
It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
And your deserts were hot and your mountains was cold

I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I slept on the ground in the light of the moon
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine

We travel with the wind and the rain in our face
Our families migrating from place onto place
We'll be working your beet fields until sundown tonight
Travel three hundred miles until the morning gets light

It takes home-loving mothers and strong-hearted men
Every state in this Union us migrants have been
On the edge of the city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we gone with the wind

I picked up and went and bought a bird in my hand
I grumbled and begging to strong fertile land
The greatest desire in this world that I know
Is to work on my land where there's green things to grown
I kick off the dust and the days that are gone
And [?] to come home to the land of our own
Where we'll pray for the rain and waters will flow
Across the green growing fields and the high thirsty row

It's always we rambled, that river and I
And it's here on the banks, I will work till I die
My land I'll defend with my life if it be
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free

I've wandered all over your green growing land
Wherever you're [?] I'll lend you my hand
On the edge of the city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we gone with the wind