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Oh . . . they say some people long ago, |
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Were searchin' for a diff'rent tune, |
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One that they could croon, |
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As only they can . . . |
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They only had the rhythm . . . so, |
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They started swayin' to and fro . . . |
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They didn't know just what to use, |
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That is how the blues, |
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Really began . . . |
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They heard the breeze in the trees, |
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Singin' weird melodies, |
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And they made that, |
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The start of the blues! |
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And from a jail came the wail, |
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Of a down-hearted frail, |
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And they played that, |
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As part of the blues! |
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From a whippoorwill out on the hill, |
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They took a new note ( whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whippoorwill . . . ) |
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Pushed it through a horn 'till it was worn, |
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Into a blue note . . . ( whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whippoorwill . . . ) |
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An' then they nursed it, and rehearsed it, |
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And gave out the news, |
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That the 'southland' . . . |
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Gave birth to the blues! |
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( shout out the wonderful news! ) |
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Oh, the breeze from the trees, |
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A wail from the jail, |
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A buzz from the cousin of a nightin'gale, |
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And 'southland' ( hello, hello! ) |
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Gave birth to the blues! |
