Woody Guthrie
The peaches are in and the crops they lie rotten
The oranges are stacked in their creosote dumps
They’re driving us back to the Mexican border
It takes all of our money to go back again
Farewell to my friends, goodbye Rosalita
Adios mes amigos, Jesus e Maria
You won’t have a name when you ride the big aeroplane
All they will call you will be deportee
Some of us are illegal and most are not wanted
Our work contracts and we must move on
The six hundred miles to the Mexican border
They drive us like outlaws like rustlers like thieves
My fathers own father he crossed the river
You took all the money he made in his life
My sisters and brothers worked in your fruit field
Rode in your trucks till they lay down and died
The sky plane caught fire o’er the Los Gatos valley
Like a fireball of lightning it plunged to the ground
Who are these friends lying round like dead leaves?
The radio said they were just deportees
They died in your hills they died in your valleys
They died on your mountains they died on your plains
They died neath your trees and they died in the bushes
Both sides of the border they died just the same