[Verse 1] Southern trees bear strange fruit Blood on the leaves and blood at the root Black bodies swingin' in the Southern breeze Strange fruit hangin' from the poplar trees [Verse 2] Pastoral scene of the gallant South The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolia, sweet and fresh Then the sudden smell of burning flesh [Verse 3] Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck For the rain to gather, for the wind to su*k For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop Here is a strange and bitter crop