Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the
root,
Black body swinging in the Southern
breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar
trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant South,
The bulging eyes and the twisted
mouth,
Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning
flesh!
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind
to suck,
or the sun to rot, for the tree to
drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
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