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 hand the 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 moon the keys he plays on sweetly and you re left completely in a swoon the melancholy strum mixed with the rum tum of melodious blues when he plays the blue note and adds a new note you ll think that he wrote a symphony but he s just improvising on a southern mammy melody you ll quit your pouting and start a shouting no need in doubting he knows the keys he 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 long forget the hour is late they hear him syncopate his mournful song a humming like the breeze a strumming lightly on those ivories