Oh . . . they say some people long ago,
Were searchin` for a diff`rent tune,
One that they could croon,
As only they can . . .
They only had the rhythm . . . so,
They started swayin` to and fro . . .
They didn`t know just what to use,
That is how the blues,
Really began . . .
They heard the breeze in the trees,
Singin` weird melodies,
And they made that,
The start of the blues!
And from a jail came the wail,
Of a down-hearted frail,
And they played that,
As part of the blues!
From a whippoorwill out on the hill,
They took a new note ( whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whippoorwill . . . )
Pushed it through a horn `till it was worn,
Into a blue note . . . ( whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whippoorwill . . . )
An` then they nursed it, and rehearsed it,
And gave out the news,
That the Southland . . .
Gave birth to the blues!
( Shout out the wonderful news! )
Oh, the breeze from the trees,
A wail from the jail,
A buzz from the cousin of a nightin`gale,
And Southland ( hello, hello! )
Gave birth to the blues!