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. . . Come labor for your mother, your father and your brother
For your sister and your lover, bracero
Come pick the fruit of yellow, break the flower from the berry
Purple grapes will fill your belly, bracero . . .
. . . And the sun will bite your body, as the dust will draw you thirsty
While your muscles beg for mercy, bracero
In the shade of your sombrero, drop your sweat upon the soil
Like the fruit your youth can spoil, bracero . . .
—“Bracero” by Phil Ochs
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