(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
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