East Orange tape, Home of Bob and Sid Gleason, East Orange NJ - February or March 1961
It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have travelled a hot dusty road
Out of your dust-bowl and westward we rolled
And your deserts were hot and your mounatins are cold.
I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I slept on the ground in the light of your moon
On the edge of your coty you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind.
California, Arizona, i made 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 wines
To set on your table your sparkling wine.
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in this union us migrants has been
We'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we win.
It's always we've rambled that river and i
All along your green valley i will work till i die
My land i'll defend with my life if it be
'Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free.