Dave Van Ronk — Pastures Of Plenty

It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed My poor feet has traveled a hot dusty road Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled And your desert was hot and your mountains was cold I've worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes Slept on the ground in the light of your moon On the edge of your city you'll see us and then We come with the dust and we're gone with the wind California, Arizona, I make all 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 Well it's always we rambled, that river and I All along your green valley, I'll work til I die My land I'll defend with my life if need be My pastures of plenty must always be free It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed My poor feet has traveled a hot dusty road Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled And your desert was hot and your mountains was cold