Oh . . . they say some people long ago,
Were searchin for a diffrent tune,
One that they could croon,
As only they can . . .

They only had the rhythm . . . so,
They started swayin to and fro . . .
They didnt 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 nightingale,
And southland ( hello, hello! )
Gave birth to the blues!