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!