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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