Luyện nghe bài hát Deportees

( Words by Woody Guthrie / Music by Martin
performance with Ellen Verdries, his mother )

The crops are all in and the are rotting,
The are piled in their creosote dumps.
flying you back to the Mexico border,
To pay all your oranges to back again.

My father's own father, he waded river,
took all the money he made in his life.
My brothers and sisters come working the trees,
And they rode the trucks till they down and died.

to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, y Maria.
You won't have a name you ride the big airplane,
All will call you will be "deportees".

Some of us are illegal, and are not wanted,
When is out, we've got to move on.
Six hundred miles to the border,
chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.

We in your hills, and we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on plains.
We died 'neath your trees and we died in bushes,
Both sides of the river, we just the same.

to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, y Maria.
You won't a name when you ride the big airplane,
All they will you will be "deportees".

The sky plane caught fire over Los Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, it all our hills,
Who are these friends, all scattered dry leaves?
The says, "They are just deportees".

Is this the best way we can our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good
To like dry leaves and rot on our topsoil,
To be known by no except "deportees"?

to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita,
Adios mis amigos, y Maria.
You won't have a name when you the big airplane,
All they will call you be "deportees".
All will call you will be "deportees".