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Black Rhythm
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Cab Calloway
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1
Down in Louisiana
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There's a grand piano playing man
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He knows that they can't kid him
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'Cause he's got hot rhythm in his hand
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The blues that he'll compose will thrill you
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From your head to your toes
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He called his song, black rhythm
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'Cause his black hands did it 'neath the moon
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The keys he plays on sweetly
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And you're left completely in a swoon
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The melancholy strum
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Mixed with the rum-tum of melodious blues
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When he plays the blue note
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And adds a new note
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You'll think that he wrote a symphony
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But he's just improvising
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On a southern mammy melody
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You'll quit your pouting
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And start a-shouting
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No need in doubting he knows the keys
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He can lay on the white ones
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Can play on the black ones with ease
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The way he plays, black rhythm
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Makes the gang stick with him all night long
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Forget the hour is late
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They hear him syncopate his mournful song
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A-humming like the breeze
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A-strumming lightly on those ivories
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