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