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One night long ago by the light of the moon, |
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An old music master sat composing a tune, |
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His spirit was soaring and his heart full of joy, |
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When right out of nowhere stepped a little coloured boy. |
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You gotta jump it, music master, |
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You gotta play that rhythm faster, |
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You're never gonna get it played |
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On the Happy Cat Hit Parade. |
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You better tell your friend Beethoven, |
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And Mister Reginald De Koven |
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They better do the same as you, |
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Or they're gonna be corny too. |
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Long about nineteen seventeen |
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Jazz'll come upon the scene, |
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Then about nineteen thirty-five |
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You'll begin to hear swing, |
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Boogie Woogie and Jive, |
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You gotta show that big broadcaster |
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That you're a solid music master, |
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And you'll achieve posterity, |
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That's a bit of advice from me. |
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The old music master simply sat there amazed, |
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As wide-eyed and open-mouthed he gazed and he gazed |
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How can you be certain little boy, tell me how? |
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Because I was born, my friend, |
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A hundred years from now. |
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He hit a chord that rocked the spinet |
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And disappeared into the infinite, |
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And up until the present day, |
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You can take it from me, |
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He's as right as can be, |
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Ev'rything has happened that-a-way. |