Deportee (Plane Wreck At Los Gatos)
The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning,
The oranges piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money and 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 were working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have a name when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
Some of us are illegal, and others are not wanted,
Our work contract's out, and we have to move on;
But six hundred miles to that Mexican border,
And they chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and 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.
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have a name when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees"
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and 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 big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except "deportees"?
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria;
You won't have a name when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be "deportees
All they will call you will be "deportees
