| The crops are all in and the peaches are rotting
|
| The oranges are stacked in their Creosote dumps
|
| They’re flying them back to the Mexico border
|
| To pay all their wages to wade back again
|
| My father’s own father, he waded that river
|
| They took all the money he made in his life
|
| My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees
|
| They rode on the trucks till they took down and died
|
| Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita
|
| Adios, mis amigos, Jesus and Maria
|
| You won’t have a name when you ride the big airplane
|
| All they will call you will be «deportee.»
|
| Somos ilegales y mal recibidos
|
| (Well, some are illegal and some are not wanted)
|
| Se a caba el contrato y de alli a caminar
|
| (Our work contract’s out and we’ve got to move on)
|
| Six hundred miles to that Mexico border
|
| They chased us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves
|
| We died in your hills and we died in your deserts
|
| We died in your valleys, we died on your plains
|
| We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes;
|
| Both sides of the river we died just the same
|
| The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon
|
| A fireball of lightning, it shook all our hills
|
| Who are all these friends all scattered like dry leaves?
|
| The radio says they are just deportees
|
| Is this the best way we can grow our best orchards?
|
| Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit—
|
| To fall like dry leaves and rot on our topsoil
|
| And be known by no name except «deportee?» |