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Text Details
Southern trees bear a 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 a fruit for the crows to pluck, for the rain to gather, for the wind to suck, for the sun to rot, for the tree to drop. Here is a strange and bitter crop.
— Strange Fruit
(song)
by Billie Holiday
|
Language: | English |
Submitted by: | Volhosis |
This text has been typed
11 times:
Avg. speed: | 117 WPM |
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Avg. accuracy: | 98.3% |
Top 10 scores for this text
User | Speed | Accuracy | Points | Place | Date | Options | |
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1 | nothisisjohn | 168 WPM | 99.0% | 255 | 1/2 | May 1, 2024 | |
2 | keegant | 145 WPM | 98.0% | 220 | 1/2 | Jan. 16, 2024 | |
3 | charlieog | 118 WPM | 98.0% | 180 | 1/2 | Jan. 20, 2024 | |
4 | mark40511 | 112 WPM | 99.0% | 170 | 1/2 | Jan. 23, 2024 | |
5 | clergy | 111 WPM | 96.0% | 168 | 1/2 | Feb. 6, 2024 | |
6 | rektless | 104 WPM | 99.0% | 157 | 1/2 | Jan. 17, 2024 | |
7 | slowtexts | 99 WPM | 98.0% | 150 | 1/1 | Jan. 14, 2024 |