Pastures Of Plenty Songtext
von Harry Belafonte

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 rolled
Blue deserts so hot and your mountains so cold

I wandered all over your green growing land
Wherever your crops are, I lend you my hands
On the edge of your cities, you'll see me and then
I′ll come with the dust, and I'm gone with the wind


California, Arizona, I worked on your crops
Then North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dug bits o your ground, I cut grapes from your vines
To sat on your tables, that light sparkling wine

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the grand Coulee Dam where the water runs down
Every state of this union, us migrants have been
We come with the dust, and we're gone with the wind

It′s always we rambled that river and I
All along your green valleys, I′ll work 'til I die
I′ll travel this road until death sets me free
'Cause pastures of plenty must always be free


It′s a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled the hot dusty road
On the edge of your cities, you see me and then
I'll come with the dust, and I′m gone with the wind