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Pastures of Plenty

by Scott H. Biram

on Lo-Fi Mojo (2003)

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 Bowls and Westward we rolled
And your deserts were hot and your mountains was cold

Well, I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I've slept on the ground in the light of the moon
At the edge of your city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind

California, Arizona, I make all your crops
And it's North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
Set on your table your light sparkling wine

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the water run down
Every state in this 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 valleys, I'll work till I die
My land I'll defend with my life if it be
'Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free