Advisory - the following lyrics contain explicit language:
It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled this hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
And through deserts so hot and through mountains so coldI worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I slept on the ground in the light of the moon
On the edge of the city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the windCalifornia, Arizona, I have worked on your crops
Well its North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wineGreen pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in the Union us migrants have been
We'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we winIt's always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, 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