Luyện nghe bài hát Plane Wreck At Los Gatos

(Deportee)

The crops are all in and the are rott'ning,
The piled in their creosote dumps;
They're flying 'em back to the Mexican
To pay all money to wade back again

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

My own father, he waded that river,
took all the money he made in his life;
My brothers and come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took and died.

Some of us are illegal, and are not wanted,
Our contract's out and we have to move on;
Six hundred to that Mexican border,
They chase us outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.

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

The sky plane caught over Los Gatos Canyon,
A fireball of lightning, and all our hills,
Who are all friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says, "They are deportees"

Is this the best way we can grow our big
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"?