Lyrics

[Intro] Well from Euan McColl we go to another favourite writer of mine. This time an American, his name: Woody Guthrie [Verse 1] It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed My poor feet have traveled that long dusty road Out of your Dust Bowls and Westward we rolled Your deserts were hot and your mountains was cold [Verse 2] I've worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes I've slept in the cold heat of the pale silver moon On the edge of the city you'll see us and then We come with the dust and we're gone with the wind [Verse 3] California, Arizona, I made all your crops Now it's up North to Oregon to gather your hops Dig the beets from the ground, pluck the grape from your vine To set on your table that light sparkling wine [Break] [Verse 4] Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters role down Every state in this Union us migrants have been We'll stay in this fight and we'll fight until we win [Verse 5] 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 My pastures of plenty must always be free