Bob Dylan - Pastures Of Plenty (1961-East Orange Recordings (February-March)) | Текст песни

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• Bob Dylan
• Pastures Of Plenty (1961-East Orange Recordings (February-March))

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
And your deserts were hot and your mountains were cold

California, Arizona, I harvest your crops
Well its 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 sparkling wine

I slept on the ground in the light of the moon
I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
Wherever your crops are, I'll lend you my hand
I've wandered all over your green, growing land

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in the Union us migrants have been
We'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we win

It's always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, I will work till I die
On the edge of your cities, you'll see me and then
I come with the dust and I'm gone with the wind

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
My land I'll defend with my life if it be
Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free

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