Plane Wreck At Los Gatos

Cisco Houston: Deportee

Bruce Springsteen: Deportee

Joan Baez: Deportee



the crops are all in
and the peaches are rotting
the oranges piled
in their creosote dumps
they're flying 'em back
to the Mexican border
to pay 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
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 some are not wanted
our work contract's out and we have to move on
six hundred miles to that Mexican border
they chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, 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
both sides of the river, we died just the same

the sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon
a fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills
who are all 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 my topsoil
and be called by no name except "deportees"?

--Woody Guthrie
Deportee