Southern trees bare a strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves.
Blood at the root.
Black bodies swining, in a southern breeze.
Starnge fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant south.
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth.
The scent of magnolia sweet and fresh.
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck
for the rain to gather,
for the wind to suck,
for the sun to rot,
for the tree to drop.
Here is a strange and bitter crop
Composed by Abel Meeropol (aka Lewis Allan)Originally sung by: Billie Holiday
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