There be a strange fruit hanging
From that tree down yonder
A bitter fruit with stinking flesh
‘Mong all those sweet pickings

It be the season for this kinda fruit
Hard for harvest
Heavy and bruised

I see folks walk past
Customed to it’s sight
While I see others wretch and wail

I been waiting for a time when this fruit done gone outta season
Seem like things might not change among these thick strong trees
Just might pray
For that bitter fruit hanging

Noosed at the neck, blood running down its cheek
Smelling like a godaweful mess
Wouldn’t you guess

That strange fruit hanging from that tree
Black beaten boy,
Mother by his feet
Aint to ripe.

Damn it down here,
I gonn be picking boys off these trees.