The oranges are packed in their creosote dumps.
They're flying them back to the Mexican border
To spend all their money, to wade back again.
Goodbye to my Juan, good-bye, Rosalita,
Adios, mis amigos, Jesus y Maria.
You won't have a name when you ride the big airplane.
All they will call you will be deportee
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted.