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
flying you back to the Mexico border
To pay all money to wade back again

My father's own father, he wanted that
They all the money he made in his life
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit
And they rode the truck till they took down and

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

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

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

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

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