From Okemah, Oklahoma, to a small West Texas town,
Woody Guthrie saw a dust bowl tear the lives of people down.
California in the thirties claimed to be the thirties claimed to be the promised land,
So he headed west with his thumb raised on his hand.
But things in California weren't the way the handbills read,
And the people cried for help as they picked fruit for their bread.
Woody saw and felt their sorrow and he vowed to give them hope,
And he lifted weary hearts with songs he wrote.
This land is your land -- this land is my land,
And "So long, it's been good to know you,"
From California to the New York Island.
Born in those Oklahoma hills,
He was bound for glory.
He was a roving minstrel who rambled 'cross the land,
With a song inside his heart and a guitar in his hand.
He sang songs for the common people and the hard times they had seen;
And Woody wrote songs like this for you and me.