Strange Fruit

Southern trees, they bear a strange fruit

Blood on the leaves, and there's blood on the root

Black bodies swinging, in the southern breeze

Strange fruit is hanging, from the southern trees

Strange sounds are coming, from the gallant south

Bulging eyes, and the twisted mouth

Scent of magnolia, sweet and fresh

And the southern smells, of burning flesh

Here is a crop, for the crows to flock

For the wind to gather, and for the rain to stop

For the sun to rot, and for the trees to drop

Here grows a strange and bitter crop

Southern trees, they bear a strange fruit

There's blood on the leaves, and there's blood on the root

Black bodies swinging, in the southern breeze

Strange fruit is hanging, from the southern trees

Southern trees, they bear a strange fruit