Southern trees bear a strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and
blood at the root,
Black body swinging
in the Southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar
Pastoral scene of the gallant South,
The bulging eyes and
the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,
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 a tree to drop,
is a strange and bitter crop.