Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos)

woodie guthrie • martin hoffman

the crops are all in and the peaches are rotten
the oranges are piled in their creosote dumps
they're flyin' them back to the Mexican border
to pay all their money to 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 come working the fruit trees
and they rode the truck till they took down and died

some of us are illegal and others not wanted
our work contract's out and we have to move on
six hundred miles to the Mexican border
they chase us like rustlers • like outlaws • 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
some went to heaven without any name

...the sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon
a fireball of lightning that shook all the hills
who are all these friends all scattered like dry leaves?
the radio said they were 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 mi amigo • Jesus y Maria
you won't have your names when you ride the big airplane
all they will call you will be deportee