You think I grow coffee, I'm not the one
I am Juan Valdez, and I'm on the Run
my midnight ride, is in an empty truck
some coyote locked me in here, and told me good luck
when I get across, I'll find me a job
take it away, from an american slob
if that don't work out, I'm drawing welfare
any work I get, more money, so I really don't care
last resort homies, never mind that they're tough
mule my own portion, it 'aint that rough
and if I get caught I wind up at home
to rest up, then gather, to the border we roam

its lots like a cycle, like birds on the wing
move on, as always, attach to that thing
and feed upon it, til it cools, shakes you clean
and wonder upon, country of such means
it's not anything personal, just all about buck
now get into the van, farewell and good luck.