Blues, The Mississippi Way!
Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson,
Fats Waller, a'sweatin' at his piano,
Bo! You know Bo?
You don't know Diddley without Bo!
W. C. Handy, in a park in Memphis,
Frozen forever in stone, Trumpet in hand,
Eyes fixed on that Mighty, Muddy
Mississippi River, frozen for all time... That River, awash on the banks,
Over the banks, bringing in black mud,
Rich, alive, flowing ever southward,
Flowing to its Delta home,
Teeming black dirt, pure white cotton,
Red hot jazz, and Blues...done right... Souls, crying in the dark nights,
Lost, alone, hurting, forever in pain,
Longing... Begging...
Calling from the Riverboats,
From the shotgun shanties,
And the cotton fields,
From the bars and the juke joints,
Sweet notes, and blue,
Pouring into that soft, warm southern night... Hearing the cries of the hurtin', hungry children,
Or the late night wail of the Midnight Flyer train,
Right on time, not stopping, passing through,
Leaving home, and wife, family and babies,
Going away...far, far away... That train, dragging her cars behind her,
Northward, maybe to Detroit city,
Or Chicago...always away,
For the high cost of $16.95, you can leave,
But there might always be
The sound in your heart
Of Jimmie Rogers, the Singing Brakeman,
Wailing 'Mississippi Moon, '
The blues, oozing out of our hearts and souls,
Soaking into that rich, black Mississippi soil.