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!