The crops are all in
The peaches are rotting
The oranges are all piled in their cresote dumps
They're flying them back to the Mexico Border
To take all their money to wade back again
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
My father's own father, he waded that river
They took all the money he made in his life
Six hundred miles to the Mexico border
They chased them like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves
The skyplane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon
Like a fireball of lightning, it shook all our hills
Who are 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 fruits?
To fall like dry leaves and rot on our topsoil
And be known 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