The sweat upon his brow and the dirt worked into his hands   The dignity of labor upon a man's own land   The soil of his fathers passed on down through blood to hand   A man's right of birth to reap the harvest from his land      The breaking of his back to keep his dream alive   To work the change of season, his instinct to survive   The planting of his seed and to see his harvest grow   Gives a pride to a man to reap the harvest that he sows      The land of the free, home of the brave   The heartland of pioneers, the heritage of flesh and blood   And along come the winds that blow through the land   With a price to pay for the working man      Money talks and changes hands   And money reaps the harvest, money demands   The grapes of wrath      They can take away his freedom   They can beat him into the dust   They can burn his home, run him from his land   And leave him out to gather rust      But they can't take away his faith   And his honesty and pride   And the knowledge he holds inside   One day they'll reap the harvest, the grapes of wrath      There's hope in a man that nothing can destroy   A man will endure anything   For the dream that he holds dear      And there's pride in a man who knows the truth   His faith in the Earth he toils for   His honesty for the air he breathes   The truth of the harvest they will reap      The grapes of wrath   The grapes of wrath   The grapes of wrath