Miguel came from a small town in northern Mexico. He came north with his brother Louis to California three years ago They crossed at the river levee when Louis was just sixteen And found work together in the fields of the San Joaquin
They left their homes and families Their father said, My sons one thing you will learn For everything the north gives, it exacts a price in return. They worked side by side in the orchards From morning till the day was through
Doing the work the hueros wouldn't do.
Word was out some men in from Sinaloa were looking for some hands Well deep in Fresno county there was a deserted chicken ranch And there in a small tin shack on the edge of a ravine Miguel and Louis stood cooking methamphetamine
You could spend a year in the orchards Or make half as much in one ten-hour shift Working for the men from Sinaloa But if you slipped the hydriodic acid Could burn right through your skin They'd leave you spittin' up blood in the desert
If you breathed those fumes in
It was early one winter evening as Miguel stood watch outside When the shack exploded lighting up the valley night Miguel carried Louis' body over his shoulder down a swale To the creekside and there in the tall grass Louis Rosales died
Miguel lifted Louis' body into his truck and then he drove To where the morning sunlight fell on a eucalyptus grove There in the dirt he dug up ten-thousand dollars all that they'd saved Kissed his brothers lips and placed him in his grave
