Pastures of Plenty Lyrics

	作词 : Guthrie
	It's a mighty hard row my poor hands have hoed
	My poor feet have travelled this hot dusty road
	Out of your dustbowl and westward we roam
	Through deserts so hot and through mountains so cold
	I've wandered all over your green growing land
	Wherever your crops are, I'll lend 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
	And northward up to Oregon to gather your hops
	I've dug beets from the ground, I've cut grapes from the vine
	To set at your table that white sparkling wine
	Green pastures of plenty from the dry desert ground
	From the grand Coolie Dam where the waters run down
	In every state of this union we migrants have been
	We work on the land and we'll fight until we win
	It's always we ramble, that river and I
	All along your green valleys I'll work till I die
	Travel this road until death sets me free
	Because pastures of plenty must always be free

	zuo ci : Guthrie
	It' s a mighty hard row my poor hands have hoed
	My poor feet have travelled this hot dusty road
	Out of your dustbowl and westward we roam
	Through deserts so hot and through mountains so cold
	I' ve wandered all over your green growing land
	Wherever your crops are, I' ll lend 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
	And northward up to Oregon to gather your hops
	I' ve dug beets from the ground, I' ve cut grapes from the vine
	To set at your table that white sparkling wine
	Green pastures of plenty from the dry desert ground
	From the grand Coolie Dam where the waters run down
	In every state of this union we migrants have been
	We work on the land and we' ll fight until we win
	It' s always we ramble, that river and I
	All along your green valleys I' ll work till I die
	Travel this road until death sets me free
	Because pastures of plenty must always be free

	zuò cí : Guthrie
	It' s a mighty hard row my poor hands have hoed
	My poor feet have travelled this hot dusty road
	Out of your dustbowl and westward we roam
	Through deserts so hot and through mountains so cold
	I' ve wandered all over your green growing land
	Wherever your crops are, I' ll lend 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
	And northward up to Oregon to gather your hops
	I' ve dug beets from the ground, I' ve cut grapes from the vine
	To set at your table that white sparkling wine
	Green pastures of plenty from the dry desert ground
	From the grand Coolie Dam where the waters run down
	In every state of this union we migrants have been
	We work on the land and we' ll fight until we win
	It' s always we ramble, that river and I
	All along your green valleys I' ll work till I die
	Travel this road until death sets me free
	Because pastures of plenty must always be free

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