Strange Fruit

Southern trees bear strange fruit

There's blood on the leaves

There's blood at the roots

Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze

There's strange fruit hanging from the poplar tree.

The scenic view of the quiet south

Those bulging eyes, the twisted mouth

The scent of magnolia comes as sweet and fresh

Suddenly: the stench of black burning flesh

Now here my friends

Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck

A tear for the rain to gather

The roaring wind to suck

For the sun to rise

And those trees to drop

And I hear there's a strange and bitter crop.