Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the sun on the breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees

Pastoral scene of the gathering sun
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
The 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 wither
For the wind to suck
For the sun to rot
For the trees to drop
Here is the sun, the bitter crop, it's death

Pastoral scene of the gathering sun
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
The 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 wither
For the wind to suck
For the sun to rot
For the trees to drop
Here is the sun, the bitter crop, it's death