നിഷ്കാസിതന്‍

Deportees
Bruce Springsteen
Lyrics: Woody Guthrie

Crops are all in, the peaches are rotting,
The oranges are all packed in their creosote dumps;
They’re flying us back to the Mexican border
To take all our money to wade back again.

Goodbye to my Juan, farewell, Roselita,
Adiós mis amigos, Jesús y María;
You won’t have a name when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be “deportees.”

Now, my father’s own father, he waded that river,
They took all the money that he made in his life;
My brothers and sisters worked in the fruit trees,
They rode the trucks ’til they took down and died.

Goodbye to my Juan, farewell Roselita,
Adiós mis amigos, Jesús y María;
You won’t have a name when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be “deportees.”

Well, the sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills,
Who are these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, “They were 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”?

Goodbye to my Juan, farewell, Roselita,
Adiós mis amigos, Jesús y María;
You won’t have a name when you ride the big airplane,
All they will call you will be “deportees.”

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