It’s a mighty hard road that my poor hands have hoed   My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road   Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled   Your desert was hot and your mountain was cold      I've worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes   Slept on the ground 'neath the light of your moon   On the edge of your city you'll see me and then   I come with the dust and I go with the wind      California, Arizona, I've been on your crops   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 water runs down   Every state of this Union us migrants have been   We come with the dust and we go with the wind      It's always we ramble, this river and I   All along your green valley, I'll work till I die   My land I'll defend with my life if need be   For my pastures of plenty must always be free