And the fruit boats ride on the waves, And the crew will dream of returning Back to the florida waters, For the work of unloading onto the trains. And the ships will dance by the shore, With fruit from venezuela, brazil and costa rica, But the fruit from the island of cuba Is carried no more. And on the decks it will lay, Picked by the hands of the peons At the lowest possible wages, While the profits are made by the strangers From far away. Now some will pick the fruit of the vine While others will go to the mountain And eat the fruit of the hillside And learn the way of the rifle, Wait for the time. Allianza dollars are spent To raise the towering buildings For the weary bones of the workers So they will be strong in the morning To go back again. Oh the companies keep a sharp eye And pay their respects to the army To watch for the hot-blooded leaders And be prepared for the junta to Crush them like flies. So heavy the price that they pay As daily the fruit it is stolen Over the blue carribean But the lengthening shadow of cuba Will hinder the way.