The sweat upon his brow
and the dirt worked into his hands
The dignity of labour
upon a man's own land

The soil of his fathers
passes on down through blood to hand
A man's right of birth
to reap the harvest from his land

The breaking of his back
to keep his dream alive
To work the change of season
his instinct to survive

The planting of his seed
and to see his harvest grow
Gives a pride to a man
to reap the harvest that he sows

The land of the free,
home of the brave
The heartland of pioneers,
the heritage of flesh and blood

And along come the winds
that blow through the land
With a price to pay
for the working man

Money talks and changes hands
And money reaps the harvest money demands

The grapes of wrath

They can take away his freedom
they can beat him into the dust
They can burn his home,
run him from his land,
and leave him out to gather rust

But they can't take away his faith
and his honesty and pride
And the knowledge that he holds inside
One day they'll reap the harvest

The grapes of wrath

There's hope in a man that nothing can destroy
A man will endure anything
for the dream
that he holds dear

And there's pride in a man who knows the truth
His faith in the earth he toils for
His honesty
for the air he breathes

The truth of the harvest they will reap

The grapes of wrath

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