Michael Hurley - Pastures of plenty

It's a ^Dlong hard ^Bmrow that my ^Dpoor hands has ^Bmhoed My ^Dpoor feet have traveled a hot, dusty ^Bmroad ^DOut of your Dust Bowl and westward we rol^Bmled ^DAnd your deserts was ^Bmhot and your ^Gmountain were ^Bmcold

C^Dalifornia and A^Bmrizona, I wo^Drked all your c^Bmrops And^D its North up to Oregon to gather harvest your ^Bmhops ^DDig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your v^Bmine ^DTo set on your table ^Bmyour light, s^Gparkling wi^Bmne

I^D worked in your o^Bmrchards of p^Deaches and pr^Bmunes S^Dlept on the ground in the light of your ^Bmmoon ^DOn the edge of the city you'll see us and^Bm then ^DWe come with the ^Bmdust and we g^Go with the wi^Bmnd

W^Dell, it's always we ^Bmrambled, that r^Diver and ^BmI A^Dll along your green valley, I will work till I ^Bmdie ^DMy land I'll defend with my life if it be^{Bm D}'Cause my past^Bmures of plent^Gy must always be^Bm free

G^Dreen pastu^Bmres of plent^Dy from dry dese^Bmrt ground F^Drom the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run ^Bmdown ^DEvery state in this Union us migrants hav^Bme been ^DWe'll work in this fi^Bmght and we'll^G fight till we^Bm win