|
The crops are all in |
|
And the peaches are rotting |
|
The oranges piled up |
|
In their creosote dumps |
|
You're flying 'em back |
|
To the Mexican border |
|
To spend all their money |
|
To wade back again |
|
{Chorus}: |
|
Good bye 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 not wanted |
|
Our work contract's up |
|
And we have to move on |
|
600 miles to that Mexican border |
|
They chase us like outlaws |
|
Like rustlers, like thieves |
|
{Chorus} |
|
The skyplane caught fire |
|
Over Los Gatos Canyon |
|
A fireball of lightning |
|
Shook all our hills |
|
Who are all these friends |
|
Who are scattered like dried leaves |
|
The radio said |
|
They were just \"deportees\" |
|
{Chorus} |
|
{Repeat} |