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!



Music by Ray Henderson

with lyrics by B.G. DeSylva and Lew Brown