Luyện nghe bài hát Deportees (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos)

Lyrics by Guthrie
by Martin Hoffman

The crops are all in and the peaches are
The oranges are piled in their cresote
They're flying you back to the border
To pay all your money to wade again

My own father, he wanted that river
They all the money he made in his life
My brothers and come working the fruit trees
And they rode the till they took down and died

Good-bye to my Juan, good-bye
mis amigos, Jesus y Maris
You won't have a name when you ride the big
And all they will call you be deportees.

Some of us are illega, and not wanted
Our work out and we have to move on
But it's six hundred miles to that border
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, theives.

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

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

Is this the best way we can grow our big
Is this the way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves to rot on my
And be called by no except deportees?