Till Your Well Runs Dry

Well, it's always we ramble, this river and I


All along your green valleys, I work till I die


My land I'll defend with my life need it be


'Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free




Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground

From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down

Every state in this union us migrants have been

Lord, we come with the dust and we go with the wind



California, Arizona, I harvest your crops

Then it's on up North to Oregon to gather your hogs

Take the beet from your ground,

cut the grapes from your vine

Just to place on your table your that light,

sparkling wine
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