Tom: E major
Intro 1
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G
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Verse 1
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road that my poor hands have told
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My poor feet have travelled a hot,
dusty road
Out of your dustbowl and
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Bm
And your desert was hot and
I've worked in your orchards
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Slept on the ground in the light of the moon
On the edge of your city,
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We come with the dust and we
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go with the wind
California and
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Arizona, I'll make all your crops
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And it's north up to
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Oregon to gather your hobs
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Take the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vines,
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to set on your tables your light sparkling wine.
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Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground,
from that
Grand
Coulee
Dam where the water runs down.
Every state in this union has
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migrants who'll be
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We work in your fight and we'll
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fight till we win
Well it's always we ramble,
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All along your green valley,
I'll work till I die
My land I'll defend with my life if need be
Cos my pastures of fancy
Outro 1
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4.8
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