歌词
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 rode
And your deserts were hot and your mountains were cold
California, Arizona, I harvest your crops
Then it's on up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig your beets from the ground, cut your grapes from the vine
To set on your table that light sparkling wine
I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
Slept on the ground in the light of your moon
On the edge of your cities you'll see us and then
We come with the dusk and we're gone with the wind
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 have been
And we'll work in this fight and we'll fight 'til we win
It's always we ramble, that river and I
All along your green valleys I will work 'til I die
My land I'll defend with my life if it be
'Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free
It's a mighty hard row that these poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your dust bowl and westward we rode
And your deserts were hot and your mountains were cold
Ani DiFranco, ladies and gentlemen
