It's a mighty hard road that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have travelled a hot dusty road
Out of your dust bowl and westward we roll
Through deserts so hot and your mountains so cold

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

California, Arizona, I've worked on your crops
Then north up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig beets from your ground, cut grapes from your vine
To set on your tables that light spakling 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 ramble that river and I
All along your green valleys I'll work till I die
I'll travel this road until death sets me free
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free

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