(Phil Ochs)

He walked all over his own growing land
From the New York isle to the California sand
He saw all the people that needed to be seen
Planted all the grass where it needed to be green

And now he is bound for a glory all his own
How he is bound for glory

He wrote and he sang and he rode upon the rails
And he got on board when the sailors had to sail
He said all the words that needed to be said
Fed all the hungry souls that needed to be fed

He sang in our streets and he sang in our halls
And he was always there when the unions gave a call
He did all the jobs that needed to be done
He always stood his ground when a smaller man would run

And its "pastures of plenty" wrote the dustbowl balladeer
And "this land is your land", he wanted us to hear
And the rising of the unions will be sung about again
And the "deportees" live on through the power of his pen

Now they sing out his praises on every distant shore
But so few remember what he was fighting for
Oh why sing the songs and forget about the man
He wrote them for a reason, why not sing them for the same

Note: Och's tribute to Woody Guthrie
Copyright Appleseed Music
Recorded by Ochs on All the News that's Fit to Print
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