I was born lucky they always say / I work in these fields of plenty / Sweat for the company far away / Fruit once sweet now has bitter taste

My father he was a Union man / Very proud and outspoken / They came and took him when I was young / I will fight ‘till his work is done

And my children are hungry / To taste the sweet life / Though my eyes have grown tired / Their desire, desire keeps me alive

I will gather no more of your bitter fruit…

I have a sister she loves to dream / Now she works right beside me / We work the land we can never own / Someday we’ll reap what we have sown

I don’t look East, I don’t look West / I don’t understand their accent / If it’s not soldiers it’s foreign debt / But they haven’t won this one yet

Soon from the fields will come fire / To cleanse the lies from all sides / The flames of freedom grow higher / Until desire, desire is satisfied

I will gather no more of your bitter fruit…

And they want to help in America / And the guns they come from America / But they fight against us North America / Why are the people so quiet in America?

I will gather no more of your bitter fruit…

[By Steven Van Zandt © Wicked Cool Records, LLC – Emi Records, 1987]