| Oh they say some people long ago
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| Were searching for a different tune
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| One that they could croon as only they can
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| They heard the breeze in the trees
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| Singing weird melodies
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| And they made that the start of the blues
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| And from a jail came the wail
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| Of a down-hearted frail
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| And they played that as part of the blues
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| From a whippoorwill out on a hill
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| They took a new note
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| Pushed it through a horn till it was worn into a blue note
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| And then they nursed it, rehearsed it
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| And gave out the news
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| That the Southland gave birth to the blues |