Woody Guthrie, Working Man

Woody’s jumping on a train
In a boxcar in the rain
Under one big sky
Wipes the dust out of his eye
He’s out here seeking truth
His guitar’s cutting loose
A Dustbowl stray
On the ribbon of highway
Uh-o-o
He’s an Okie locomotive rider
Singing, thinking, freedom fighter
Sketching lyric pictures of this land
He’s a poet, picker, writer, painter
Mystic, prophet entertainer
Woody Guthrie, Working Man!
Under California skies, Okies were broken
Or just getting by
In the orchards 'round their radio
There’s a voice there that’s giving them hope
He wrote songs out on Coney Isle
That made his children and Pete Seeger smile
Songs for workers, and the Grand Coulee Dam
For soldiers of war, and for old Uncle Sam
He was born in the old Dust Bowl
A red dirt cowboy with a child-like soul
From New York to the Rio Grande
He kept on singing, all the way to California
«This land is your land»