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