Tonalità: D minor
Verse 1
Am
It's a mighty hard road that my poor hands have
E
hoed. My poor feet have traveled a hot, dusty road.
Am
Out of your dust bowls and westward we rode. Your
deserts were hot and your mountains were cold.
I've wandered all over this green growing land. Wherever your crops were,
E
I've lent you my hands.
Am
On the edge of your city you'll see me and then,
Dm
I come with the dust and I go with the wind.
Am
Verse 2
California, Arizona, I've worked all your crops. Then
E
it's North up to Oregon to gather your hops.
Am
Dig the beets from your ground. Cut the grapes from your
Dm
Am
vines to set on your table that light sparkling wine.
Verse 3
Am
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground from
E
the Grand Coulee dam where the waters run down
Am
Every state in the Union this migrant has been.
Dm
Am
I come with the dust and I go with the wind.
It's always we ramble that river and I all along your green valley,
E
I'll work 'til I die.
Am
And I'll travel this road until death sets me free for
Dm
Am
my pastures of plenty must always be green.
Verse 4
Am
Dm
Am
I come with the dust and I go with the wind.
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