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 Were Cold



I 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 Wind



California, Arizona, I Harvest 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 Wine



Green 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 Win



It'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 Need Be

Cause My Pastures Of Plenty Must Always Be Free