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