The crops are all in and the peaches are rotting The oranges are filed in their creosote dumps They're flying 'em back to the Mexico border To take all their money to wade back again Goodbye to my Juan, farewell Roselita 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 My father's own father, he waded that river They took all the money he made in his life It's six hundred miles to the Mexico border And they chased them like rustlers, like outlaws, like thieves The skyplane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon The great ball of fire it shook all our hills Who are these dear friends who are falling like dry leaves? Radio said, "They are just deportees" Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards? Is this the best way we can raise our good crops? To fall like dry leaves and rot on out topsoil And be known by no names except "deportees"
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