Commentary
Odetta: Queen of Folk Music (includes video)
Editorial Board
In every state of this union we migrants have been We work on the land and we'll fight until we win It's always we ramble, that river and I All along your green valleys I'll work till I die Travel this road until death sets me free Because pastures of plenty must always be free
March 14, 2019 2 min read Free to read
Songwriter: WOODY GUTHRIE
Odetta: Singer, guitarist, civil and human rights activist
December 31, 1930 -December 2, 2008
Pastures of Plenty
It’s a mighty hard row my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled this hot dusty road
Out of your dust bowl and westward we roam
Through deserts so hot and through mountains so cold
I’ve wandered all over your green growing land
Wherever your crops are, I’ll lend you my hand
On the edge of your cities, you’ll see me and then
I come with the dust and I’m gone with the wind
California, Arizona, I’ve worked on your crops
And northward up to Oregon to gather your hops
I’ve dug beets from the ground, I’ve cut grapes from the vine
To set at your table that white sparkling wine
Green pastures of plenty from the dry desert ground
From the grand Coolie Dam where the waters run down
In every state of this union we migrants have been
We work on the land and we’ll fight until we win
It’s always we ramble, that river and I
All along your green valleys I’ll work till I die
Travel this road until death sets me free
Because pastures of plenty must always be free
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