Southern trees bearing strange fruits
Blood on the leaves, blood at the roots
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
There are strange fruits hanging from the poplar trees

Pastoral scene of the gallant south
Them big, bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the winds to suck
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop
1