Lyrics
I'd like to do a song this time
Very, very few songs that I do that are not Irish
But this one is mm, one of the exceptions, one of the few exceptions
It's a song written by the late, great Woody Guthrie
But man's inhumanity to man
But the fruit pickers coming from Mexico to pick the fruit in California
It's a beautiful sound, it's called "Deportees"
The crops are all in, the peaches they are gathered
Oranges packed in their creosote bins
They're flying them back to the Mexico border
To take all their money to get back again
So farewell to my friends, goodbye Rosalita
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maris
You won't have a name when you fly the big aeroplane
All they will call you will be deportees
The sky-plane caught fire over Los Gatos canyon
The fireball lit up, it shook the hills round
Oh, who were those friends that were scattered like dry leaves?
The radio said they were just deportees
So farewell to my friends, goodbye Rosalita
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maris
You won't have a name when you fly the big aeroplane
All they will call you will be deportees
Is this the best way to till our good orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To lie on the ground and to rot 'neath the topsoil
And never know no name except deportees?
So farewell to my friends, goodbye Rosalita
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maris
You won't have a name when you fly the big aeroplane
All they will call you will be deportees
Some of we're illegal, and some were not wanted
Our work contracts finished, we've got to move on
It's six hundred miles to the Mexican border
They chase us like rustlers, like outlaws, like thieves
So farewell to my friends, goodbye Rosalita
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maris
You won't have a name when you fly the big aeroplane
All they will call you will be deportees
Thank you very much
Thank you
Thank you very much
Thank you, okay
