(Abel Meeropol aka Lewis Allan)
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.
Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh
And the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is a 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
Oh, ----- here is a strange and bitter --- crop.
Oh, --- here is a strange and bitter crop.
Note: I've seen the attribution to Ms. Holiday alone, to Mr. Allen
alone and to both together. RG
@blues @political @death
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