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Black Rhythm

Down in Louisiana

There's a grand piano playing man

He knows that they can't kid him

'Cause he's got hot rhythm in his handThe blues that he'll compose will thrill you

From your head to your toes

He called his song, black rhythm

'Cause his black hands did it 'neath the moonThe keys he plays on sweetly

And you're left completely in a swoon

The melancholy strum

Mixed with the rum-tum of melodious bluesWhen he plays the blue note

And adds a new note

You'll think that he wrote a symphony

But he's just improvisingOn a southern mammy melody

You'll quit your pouting

And start a-shouting

No need in doubting he knows the keysHe can lay on the white ones

Can play on the black ones with ease

The way he plays, black rhythm

Makes the gang stick with him all night longForget the hour is late

They hear him syncopate his mournful song

A-humming like the breeze

A-strumming lightly on those ivories

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