harry belafonte
pastures of plenty
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 Blue deserts so hot and your mountains so cold I wandered all over this green growing land Where ever your crops are I lend you my hands At 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 worked on your crops North up to oregon to gather your hops I got beets from your ground I cut grapes from your vines To sat on our table's that light that sparkling 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 Oh we come with the dust and we're gone, gone,gone with  The wind It's always we rambled that river and I All along your green valley's I'd work till I die I traveled this road until death lets me be Cause pastures of plenty must always be free I's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road Edge of your cities you see me and then I come with the dust and I'm gone, gone, gone with the  Wind