Play Strange Fruit by Billie Holiday
Strange Fruit: A Portrait of a Holiday
..self medicated to hide the pain within.
deep tracks...
..on both arms, outline the life she lived
in fact...
..the dope scars, help find what time
has hid...
..locked in song by a songstress in a
timeless hymn...
Someone once told me, a great writer makes a choice in life
voice of night consoling lonely wives bound by page and light
or the timeless type in bold print, bound by his ways in life
so I raise waves in ink, Poseidon like, & never the silent type
violence ripe, I script bruised fruit! Some fell from the trees
as others hung from the noose. I'm painting that strange fruit
portrait of a Holiday, a heroine bulls-eyed on opiates cut loose
on dart-boards over-used, tracks of which tell a dark tale or two
Smack down, syringe plunged deep in mainlines, numb veins
pump candy for strained minds, on back-drops of stained lives
heated spoons & cotton balls, cop a squat & watch'em crawl
in a funk so thick, because filth covered pores prolong the next fix
so she swims in white water rapids despite the white collar tactics
deployed & fixed by the system, she pours her soul onto plastic
to blast hits, the type to tops charts & celebrate w/ new pricks
not to imply she's promiscuous, but this seed's of another tip
shooting juice to blow into another trip, a new haze in a daze
gone by, un phased by her ways played in another jazz club dive
alive, pouring soul into a metal box, smoke wafts thru dim light
as pianos play soft, off to stage right, she's only a silhouette
in a sea of cigarettes & candle light, like velvet wings in flight
her voice soars high over soothing waves on moonlit nights
she sings of sorrows seen in life & scenes of tearful things alike
strange fruit swayed on Southern trees, where colors ran
black on white, back when right was a consensus of white cloaks
and colored folks were labeled senseless and hung for jokes
in orchard rows by ropes, a fruit that dangled by necks broke
this portrait of a Holiday s'long been painted... tis but a peek
created from a sedated funk, deep in a sultry tongue & cheek
her voice sweeps through in controlled octaves & evening gowns
leaving crowds in tears, pale faced patrons with deceiving frowns
stand in ovation, yet days later they haul her ass into station
a starlit, lit on the walk of fame with her name ablaze in lights
headlines read, ''Miss Holiday Arrested'' for favors found in spite
she candy coated truth on wax that struck down anyone in sight
so next time you hear Miss Billie Holiday, just stop and listen
her sweet voice carries a soulful tune but the deeper image...
you're missing...
...just listen
..self medicated to hide the pain within.
deep tracks...
..on both arms, outline the life she lived
in fact...
..the dope scars, help find what time
has hid...
..locked in song by a songstress in a
timeless hymn...
Inspired by Miss Billie Holiday
By: Bounce