This next song I'm going to sing is an old song,
not too old.
I sang it on the
Midnight
Special on that
NBC thing, and it never got on the air.
I never released it. I don't think it
was the song itself.
It was probably the introduction,
you know.
Well, before I sang the song, I said,
I was talking about little kids,
Because I got some.
And I was saying, must be strange to grow up
in this country and not know what a grape
looks like.
Doesn't sound too subversive,
right?
Doesn't mean nothing.
Kicked it off the air though.
The crops are all in, the peaches are rotting,
the oranges are piled in their creosote dump.
They're flyin' you back to the
Mexico border
To pay all your money to wait back again
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 trucks till they
took down and died
Goodbye to my
Juan, goodbye
Rosalita
Adios mi amigo,
Jesus de
Maria
You won't have a name when
you ride the big airplane
And all they will call you
will be deportees
Some of us are illegal and
others not wanted
Our work contract's out
and we have to move on
Six hundred miles to the
Mexico border
They chase us like outlaws,
like rustlers and thieves
We've died in your hills and we've
died on your deserts
We've died in your valleys,
we've died on your plains
We've died in your trees and
we've died in your bushes
Both sides of the river,
we've died just the same
Goodbye to my
Juan, goodbye
Rosalita
Adios, mi amigos, esus y
Maria
You won't have a name when
you ride the big airplane
And all they will call you
will be deportees
The sky plane caught fire over
Los
Gatos
Canyon
Like a fireball of lightning,
it shook all our hills
And who are these friends, oh,
scattered like dried leaves
The radio says they are just de portees
Is this the best way we can
grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can
grow our good fruit?
To fold like dry leaves and
to rot on your topsoil
And be known by no name
except deportees
Goodbye to my
Juan, goodbye
Rosalita, adios mi amigo
Jesus y
Maria, you won't have a name when you ride the big airplane,
and all they will call you will be deportees.
applause
piano music