Southern trees

Bearing strange fruit

Blood on the leaves

And blood at the roots

Black bodies

Swinging in the Southern breeze

Strange fruit hangin'

From the poplar trees

Pastoral scene

Of the gallant south

Them big, bulging eyes

And the twisted mouth

Scent of magnolia

Clean and fresh

Then, the sudden smell

Of burnin' 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 leaves to drop

Here is a

Strange and bitter crop