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These are the blues |
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Nothing but blues |
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Oh, they say some people long ago |
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Were searching for a diffrent 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 |
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They started swaying to and fro |
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They didn't know just what to use |
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That is how the blues really began |
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They heard the breeze in the trees |
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Singing weird melodies |
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And they made that the start, 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 |
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Way up on a hill |
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They took a new note |
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Pushed it through a horn |
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Until it was worn |
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Into a blue note |
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And then they nursed it |
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They rehearsed it |
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And then sent out that news |
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That the Southland gave birth to the blues |
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They nursed it |
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And they rehearsed it |
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That the Southland they gave birth to the blues |
