| The crops are all in | |
| And the peaches are rotting | |
| The oranges piled up | |
| In their creosote dumps | |
| You're flying 'em back | |
| To the Mexican border | |
| To spend all their money | |
| To wade back again | |
| {Chorus}: | |
| Good bye 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\" | |
| Some of us are illegal | |
| And others not wanted | |
| Our work contract's up | |
| And we have to move on | |
| 600 miles to that Mexican border | |
| They chase us like outlaws | |
| Like rustlers, like thieves | |
| {Chorus} | |
| The skyplane caught fire | |
| Over Los Gatos Canyon | |
| A fireball of lightning | |
| Shook all our hills | |
| Who are all these friends | |
| Who are scattered like dried leaves | |
| The radio said | |
| They were just \"deportees\" | |
| {Chorus} | |
| {Repeat} |
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