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!

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