escrita por gerald marks e seymour simons em 1931, 

foi pela primeira vez ouvida na radio pela voz de belle baker

e finalmente gravada por ruth etting uns meses depois.

desde então tornou-se um dos mais populares standards de jazz,

com centenas de versões e covers. recordo hoje a de lady day.

all of me

why not take all of me can't you see i'm no good without you take my lips i want to lose them take my arms i'll never use them your goodbye left me with eyes that cry how can i go on dear, without you you took the part that once was my heart so why not take all of me

festeja hoje uma centena de translações solares a menina eleanora fagan gough, mais conhecida por billie holiday. 
e recordei em especial esta canção, escrita inicialmente por abel meeropol como um poema de protesto contra o linchamento e enforcamento de negros americanos, uma prática ainda comum nos anos trinta em todos os estados do sul. há muitas versões, mas ninguém a cantou como ela.

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

nesta gravação de 1956 a voz de billie holiday acusa os longos anos de álcool e drogas. 
mas, em bom rigor, nunca mais ninguém conseguiu cantar isto com igual emoção.

Them that's got shall get


Them that's not shall lose


So the Bible said and it still is news


Mama may have, Papa may have


But God bless the child that's got his own


That's got his own



Yes, the strong gets more


While the weak ones fade


Empty pockets don't ever make the grade


Mama may have, Papa may have


But God bless the child that's got his own


That's got his own



Money, you've got lots of friends


Crowding round the door


When you're gone, spending ends


They don't come no more


Rich relations give


Crust of bread and such


You can help yourself


But don't take too much


Mama may have, Papa may have


But God bless the child that's got his own


That's got his own



Mama may have, Papa may have


But God bless the child that's got his own


That's got his own


He just worry 'bout nothin'

Cause he's got his own