D                               G               C
It's a mighty hard road that my poor hands have hoe'd
   D                         G         C
my poor feet have travel'd a hot dusty road
D                        G            C
out of your dust bowl 'n westward we rolled
D                                 G              C
and your deserts were hot 'n your mountains were cold
  
  D...
I worked in your orchads of peaches 'n prunes
I 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 dust man we're gone with the wind

California, Arizona I made all your crops
then it's north up to Oregon to gather your hops
dig the beets from your ground cut the grapes from your vine
to set on your table your light, sparklin' wine

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From that Grand Coulie Dam where the water runs down
Every state of this union us migrants have been
we workin' despite, yeah but we'll fight 'til we win

now it's always we ramble that river 'n I
all along your green valleys we'll work 'til we die
this land we'll defend with our lives if it be
'cos our pastures of plenty must always be free.


or

G                               C
It's a mighty hard road that my poor hands have hoed
D                                      G
my poor feet have travel'd a hot dusty road
G                                    C
out of your dust bowl 'n westward we rolled
         D                         G              C
and your deserets were hot 'n your mountains were cold