Tono: D
Introducción:
D
It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed,
my poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road.
D
I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes,
I slept on the ground in the light of your moon.
D
California, Arizona, I make all your crops,
then it’s North up to Oregon to gather your hops,
D
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground,
from that Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down.
A D
we'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we win,
D
It's always we rambled, that river and I,
all along your green valley, I will work till I die.
A D
'cause my pastures of plenty must always be free.