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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