Goodbye, my one, goodbye, Rosalita,
adios, mis amigos, Jesus and Maria.
You won't have a name
when you ride the big aeroplane
All they will call you will be deportee
His father's own father
waded the river
They took all of the money
he'd made in his life
His brothers and sisters came a
-workin' the fruit trees.
They rode in the truck
till they took sick and died.
Now some were illegal,
Some were not wanted,
their work was done,
and they had to move on.
Six hundred miles to the
Mexican border,
chased as if they were outlaws
Goodbye my one, goodbye
Rosalita, adios mis amigos, Jesus and Maria,
it won't have a name
When you ride the big aeroplane
All they will call you will be deportee
They died in our hills
They died in our deserts
They died in our valleys,
they died on our plains
They died beneath our trees,
and they died in our bushes
Both sides of the river,
they died just the same
The sky plane caught fire
over Los Gatos Canyon
A fireball of lightning shook all our hills
Who are these friends
all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio said they were just deportees
Goodbye my one, goodbye Rosalita
Adios mis amigos, Jesus and Maria
You won't have a name
when you ride the big airplane
All they will call you will be
Deportee
Is this the best way
we grow our big orchids?
Is this the best way
we grow our good fruits?
To fall like dry leaves, to rot on our topsoil
And be known by no name
except deportees
The crops are all in,
the peaches are rotting
The oranges burned in their
creole salt dumps
We flew them back to the Mexican border
No money is needed,
they'll never wade back
Goodbye my Juan, goodbye Rosalita