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've wandered all over your green growing land

Where ever your crops are I've lent you my hands

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'd worked on your crops

the North up to Washington to gather your hops

I got beets from your ground

I cut grapes from your vines

To sat on our table's and light 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

We come with the dust and we're gone,with the wind


We come with the dust and we're gone,with the wind


And we're gone.. with the wind...