Pastures of plenty - Country Joe McDonald (tributo a Woody Guthrie)

It’s a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed My poor feet have travelled a hot dusty road Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled And your desert was hot and your mountain was cold. I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes I 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 go with the wind. California, Arizona, I make all your crops Well it’s 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 in this Union us migrants have been We’ll work in this fight and we’ll fight till we win. Well, it’s always we rambled, that river and I All along your green valley, I’ll work till I die My land I’ll defend with my life if