Southern trees bear a 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 Pastoral scene of the gallant South The bulgin eyes and the twisted mouth Scent of magnolias sweet and fresh Then the sudden smell of burnin 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 tree to drop Here is a strange and bitter crop -- Billy Holiday. The fact that this song still applies to America today upsets me.
Posted on: Tue, 25 Nov 2014 08:55:47 +0000