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Pastures of Plenty

Woody Guthrie
Lingua: Inglese


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 it be
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free



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