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The crops are all in and the peaches are rotting,
The oranges are packed in their cA7reosote dDumps. D7
They're Gflying them back to the MeDxican border
To spend all their money, to wA7ade back agDain. D7
GoodbGye to my Juan, good-bDye, Rosalita,
AdiA7os, mis amigos, JeDsus y MD7aria.
You wGon't have a name when you riDde the big airplane.
All they will call you will be deporteeA7 D
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted.
Our work contract's out and we've got to move on.
Six hundred miles to that Mexican border
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon.
A fireball of light'ning, it shook all our hills.
Who are all these friends who are scattered like dry leaves?
The radio said they were just deportees.
EXTRA VERSES:
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.
They rode the truck till they took down and died ...CHORUS
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys, we died on your plains.
We died 'neath your treesand we died in your bushes.
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
NOTE: I got most of this from the lyrics archives under Woody Guthrie.
It is a Guthrie song, but I figure Byrds fans might like it too. The
Byrds only sang the first three verses, but I thought I'd include all the
ones in Guthrie's version.
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