Black Rhythm Songtext
von Cab Calloway

Down in Louisiana
There′s a grand piano playin' man
He knows that they can′t kid him
'Cause he's got hot rhythm in his hands
The blues that he′ll compose will thrill you
From your head to your toes
He called his song "Black Rhythm"
′Cause his black hand didn't need the moon
The keys he fingers sweetly
And you′re left completely in a swoon


A melancholy strum
Mixed with a rum-tum or melodious tune
When he plays a blue note and adds a new note
You'd think that he wrote a symphony
But he′s just improvising
On a southern mammy melody

You'll quit your poutin′ and start a-scoutin'
No need in doubtin', he knows the key
He can lay on the white ones
And play on the black ones with ease
The way he plays "Black Rhythm"
Makes the guys sit with him all night long
Forget the hour is late
Make him to sing and play this mournful song

A hummin′ like the breeze
A strummin′ lightly on those ivories