text: Its a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
  My poor feet have traveled that hot dusty road
  Out of your dust bowl and westward we go
  Your desert was hot and your mountain was cold
  Ive worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
  Ive slept on the ground in the light of your moon
  On the edge of your city youve seen us and then
  We come with the dust and we go with the wind
  California, Arizona, I make all your crops
  Then north up to Oregon to gather your hops
  Pull 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
  Well work in your fight and well fight til we win
  Well its always we ramble that river and I
  All along your green valley Ill work til I die
  This land Ill defend with my life if need be
  Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free
  Its a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
  My poor feet have traveled that hot dusty road
  On the edge of your city youve seen us and then
  We come with the dust and we go with the wind
  We come with the dust and we go with the wind