Things I don’t understand #1.
Why the songs "Strange Fruit" and "The House I Live In" are not mandatory in Grammar School. Lyrics below. Songs on YouTube.
STRANGE FRUIT ... Billie Holiday
Southern trees bear strange fruit.
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root.
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze.
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant south.
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth.
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh.
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is 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.
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THE HOUSE I LIVE IN … Frank Sinatra
What is America to me.
A name, a map, or a flag I see.
A certain word, democracy.
What is America to me.
The house I live in.
A plot of Earth, a street.
The grocer and the butcher
And the people that I meet.
The children in the playground.
The faces that I see.
All races and religions.
That's America to me.
The place I work in.
The worker by my side.
The little town the city.
Where my people lived and died.
The howdy and the handshake.
The air a feeling free.
And the right to speak your mind out.
That's America to me
The things I see about me.
The big things and the small.
The little corner newsstand.
Or the house a mile tall.
The wedding and the churchyard.
The laughter and the tears.
The dream that's been a growing.
For a hundred and fifty years
The town I live in.
The street, the house, the room
The pavement of the city,
Or the garden all in bloom.
The church the school the clubhouse.
The million lights I see.
But especially the people.
That's America to me.
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth.
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh.
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is 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.
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THE HOUSE I LIVE IN … Frank Sinatra
What is America to me.
A name, a map, or a flag I see.
A certain word, democracy.
What is America to me.
The house I live in.
A plot of Earth, a street.
The grocer and the butcher
And the people that I meet.
The children in the playground.
The faces that I see.
All races and religions.
That's America to me.
The place I work in.
The worker by my side.
The little town the city.
Where my people lived and died.
The howdy and the handshake.
The air a feeling free.
And the right to speak your mind out.
That's America to me
The things I see about me.
The big things and the small.
The little corner newsstand.
Or the house a mile tall.
The wedding and the churchyard.
The laughter and the tears.
The dream that's been a growing.
For a hundred and fifty years
The town I live in.
The street, the house, the room
The pavement of the city,
Or the garden all in bloom.
The church the school the clubhouse.
The million lights I see.
But especially the people.
That's America to me.
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