![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDbInZRv12N5Mb_o-_YI2g3TNUbbFl10febG3lQJTk82H6L64tn3gRTvcrE2lKnY8x-Inz3kJ204ZsrNOHtFs_KKVsI64yebPWi7qoFpdRL_iQtzcxso7gc9Ipklsqjpt0HqSoUQPceqQ/s320/bilhol.jpg)
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.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhkeYuHlYj-Ctf-mnWbqz3DDOeWl5EKVXm8boJAEKsRPgiXqZhno_57rPdlHWB_NjoxxausFzALtEbVo-z-8hey0ITcvlrL7ZcBRL2QI95q1Qiw9NdDRb7gSVPZoEeCCD3NjKGBmWK-8U/s320/strange-fruit1.jpg)
Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVRk_AOWbEt99CIstemysCUoG8JqSik0ewdgQOoT3Purjycruzm1mFt4zMIlS4oSxhUOdwDdL-FkY-Vqd6NUtND39FwtyjZvWXgNGr6H3fmWgobbRwMkC1s-rhezYncUMgkKSIyHlyuk4/s320/southerntree.jpg)
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
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