| Tulare dust in a farm boy’s nose
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| Wondering where the freight train goes
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| Standin' in the field by the railroad track
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| Cursin' this strap on my cotton sack
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| I can see mom and dad with shoulders low
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| Both of 'em pickin' on a double row
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| They do it for a livin' because they must
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| That’s life like it is in the Tulare dust
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| The California sun was something new
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| That when we arrived in '42
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| And I can still remember how my daddy cussed
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| The tumbleweeds here in the Tulare dust
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| The wally fever was a comin' fate
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| To the farmworkers here in the Golden State
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| And I miss Oklahoma but I’ll stay
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| If I must and help make a livin' in the Tulare dust
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| The Tulare dust in a farm boy’s nose
|
| Wondering where the freight train goes
|
| Standin' in the field by the railroad track
|
| Cursin' this strap on my cotton sack |