PASTURES OF PLENTY (Testo e musica di Woody Guthrie) It’s a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed; My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road, Out of your dust bowl and westward we roll, And your desert was hot and your mountain 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’ve seen us and then, We come with the dust and we go with the wind. California and Arizona, I make all your crops, And it’s north up to Oregon to gather your hops, Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vines, To set on your tables your light sparkling wine. Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground. From that Grand Coulee Dam where the water runs down, Every state in this Union us migrants have been, We work in your fight. and we’ll fight till we win. Well, it’s always we ramble, 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. Woody Guthrie > canzoni > This Land Is Your Land - The Asch Recordings Vol 1