Strange fruit no longer hang from the poplar tree
A new harvest, shoot, shot up, already dead at the root
The blood on the leaves now flows on the streets on white sheets
Black blood as gloves on white hands has always been the in look
In looking from the outside, white lives, black admires
White eats all, the strange fruit, black gets the whips gets the kicks
Wallowing and drowning in bliss
White reaps what black sows
White rips out black souls
They drink while we pour
Not even a flinch when we roar
Tame in their eyes
Fair game to their lies
Who is to blame for black lives
What a shame it is for black to be alive
Black pride in the dark alive, rise black child rise