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F B[ F
The crops are all in and the peaches are rotting.
F C7 F
The oranges are piled in their creosote dumps.
B[ F Dm
You’re flying them back to the Mexican border
F C7 F
To pay all their money to wade back a-gain.
Chorus:
B[ F
Good-bye to my Juan, good-bye Rosalita.
C7 F
Adi-os mis amigos, Je-sus y Maria.
B[ F Dm
You won’t have a name when you fly the big airplane,
F C7 F
All they will call you will be Depor-tee.
Chorus.
The skyplane caught fire over las Gatos Canyon.
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 fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on the topsoil
And be known by no name except deportees.
Chorus.