Trees of the ghetto bear strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black and brown adolescents lost in the breeze
Crack on the streets, turning our families to fiends
Chaotic scenes of the menacing towns
Words cannot describe, evoking a thousand frowns
Scent of the roses, floral and fresh
Then the sudden sound of bullets piercing flesh
Nothing more than a number in a system that\'s set us up to fail
No pride in who we are, and our dignity is frail
Nothing more than a body that\'s meant to fill the prisons
Children of the night, police lights making eyes glisten
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
Here is a strange and bitter crop