I'm a dust bowl refugee,
Just a dust bowl refugee,
From that dust bowl to the peach bowl,
Now that peach fuzz is a-killin' me.
'Cross the mountains to the sea,
Come the wife and kids and me.
It's a hot old dusty highway
For a dust bowl refugee.
Hard, it's always been that way,
Here today and on our way
Down that mountain, 'cross the desert,
Just a dust bowl refugee.
We are ramblers, so they say,
We are only here today,
Then we travel with the seasons,
We're the dust bowl refugees.
From the south land and the drought land,
Come the wife and kids and me,
And this old world is a hard world
For a dust bowl refugee.
Yes, we ramble and we roam
And the highway that's our home,
It's a never-ending highway
For a dust bowl refugee.
Yes, we wander and we work
In your crops and in your fruit,
Like the whirlwinds on the desert
That's the dust bowl refugees.
I'm a dust bowl refugee,
I'm a dust bowl refugee,
And I wonder will I always
Be a dust bowl refugee?
Just a dust bowl refugee,
From that dust bowl to the peach bowl,
Now that peach fuzz is a-killin' me.
'Cross the mountains to the sea,
Come the wife and kids and me.
It's a hot old dusty highway
For a dust bowl refugee.
Hard, it's always been that way,
Here today and on our way
Down that mountain, 'cross the desert,
Just a dust bowl refugee.
We are ramblers, so they say,
We are only here today,
Then we travel with the seasons,
We're the dust bowl refugees.
From the south land and the drought land,
Come the wife and kids and me,
And this old world is a hard world
For a dust bowl refugee.
Yes, we ramble and we roam
And the highway that's our home,
It's a never-ending highway
For a dust bowl refugee.
Yes, we wander and we work
In your crops and in your fruit,
Like the whirlwinds on the desert
That's the dust bowl refugees.
I'm a dust bowl refugee,
I'm a dust bowl refugee,
And I wonder will I always
Be a dust bowl refugee?
envoyé par The Lone Ranger - 24/5/2010 - 09:44
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Album “Dust Bowl Ballads”
Durante i primi decenni del XX secolo le grandi e fertili pianure al centro degli USA furono coltivate intensivamente e dissennatamente, senza badare alla rotazione delle colture e senza mai dare respiro alla terra. Durante e dopo la prima guerra mondiale la produzione agricola fu spinta ben oltre la resistenza del suolo, che si inaridì e desertificò velocemente sotto i colpi degli aratri. All’inizio degli anni 30 il dissesto geologico era compiuto e i venti cominciarono a strappare via, letteralmente, la superficie della terra, alzando spaventose tempeste di sabbia. Nella “Dust Bowl”, la “conca della polvere”, compresa tra Texas, Kansas, Oklahoma, Colorado e Nuovo Messico, mezzo milione di americani restarono senza nulla e cominciarono un esodo biblico verso ovest, verso la California. Lì, nel “paese del latte e del miele”, i migranti finivano invece a lavorare come schiavi nelle grandi tenute agricole: è la storia di "The Grapes of Wrath" di John Steinbeck/John Ford e della canzone di Bruce Springsteen The Ghost Of Tom Joad…