It's a mighty hard road that my
Poor hands have hold
As I travel along on this hard dusty road
Out of your dustbowls and this' where we roam
Your deserts was hard and your
Mountains was cold
The edge of your city
You'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we
Blow with the wind
Green pastures of plenty
From dry desert ground
From the grand canyon down Where the
Waters run down
Every state in the union us migrants have been
We'll work in this fight
And we'll fight till we win
It's always we ramble
And river run down
Along your green valley
I'll work 'till I die
My lands I'll defend with my
Life need it be
For my pastures of plenty
Will always be free
Green pastures of plenty
From dry desert ground
From the grand canyon down where the
Waters run down
Every state in the union us migrants have been
We'll work in this fight
And we'll fight till we win
It's a mighty hard road that my
Poor hands have hold
Writer(s): Woody Guthrie
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