(Woody Guthrie)

The crops are all in the peaches are rotting
The oranges are piled in their creosote dumps
They're flying you back to the Mexico border
To pay all your money 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 they work in the fruit trees
They rode the truck 'till they took down and died

Good-bye to my Juan good-bye Rosalita
Adios mis amigos Jesus y Maria
You won't have a name when you ride the big airplane
And all they will call you will be deportee

Some of us are illegal and some are not wanted
Our work contract's out and we have to move on
Six hundred miles to the Mexican border
They chase us like rustlers, like outlaws, like thieves

We died in your hills
We died on your deserts
We've died in your mountains, and died on your plains
We've died 'neath your trees, and we've died in your bushes
Both sides of the river, we've died just the same

The skyplane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon
A fireball of lightning that shook all our hills
Who were all these dear friends all scattered like dry leaves
The radio says they were just deportees

Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards
And is this the best way we can grow our good fruit
To fall like dry leaves and rot on the top soil
And be known by no name except deportee


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