(L. Allan)



Southern trees bear a strange fruit

Blood on the leaves and blood at the roots

Black bodies swingin' in the southern breeze

Strange fruit hangin' from the poplar trees



Pastoral scene of the gallant south

The bulging eyes and twisted mouth

Scent of magnolias sweet and fresh

And the sudden smell of burning flesh



Here is the 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