And I would like to play a little tune I just composed not so long ago It's Billy, it's Billy, it's Billy Holiday The music called jazz After the one and only, Havana Bear Ready for the modern progressive dance here at the Metropolitan Opera House in Royal Roots Intruder in the sounds of the African, or should I say the mother Bringing us back again, from the drumming on the Congo It came with a strong flow, and continued to grow Feet moved, to the beat of the tabalo Now dig the story and follow, for then it landed On American soil, through the sweat, the blood, and the toil It praised the Lord, shouted on chain gains Pain they felt, but it helped them to maintain Scott Joplin's rags, Bessie Smith's blues, St. Louis blues They were all the news, ringing smooth In all the listeners ears, fulfilling the needs And planting the seeds of a jazz band King Oliver's group was a train coming through to Chicago Bringing a New Orleans groove And when Satchmo blew, the audience knew Basie Street Blues was no whorehouse tune, it was music Great to dance to, great to romance to With a lot to say to you, relaying a message Revealing the essence of a jazz band In the 40s came bebop, the first bebop The real bebop, so let me talk about Diz and Bird Giving the word, defining how a beat could be so complete Playing with ferocity, thinking with velocity About ornithology or anthropology, and even epistrophe And this is real history, Thelonious Monk, a melodious thunk No mistakes were made with the notes he played His conception was recondite A star glowing bright among dim lights The critics did cite that he sounded all right Charlie Mingus, such nimble fingers Dropping the bass all over the place And Max Roach, cymbal socking Bass drum talking, snare drum rocking Restructuring the metaphysics of a jazz thing Then too we'd like you to feel that you've just walked in You've been seated at the table, and now you're ready to listen to John Coltrane, a man supreme, he was the cream He was the wise one, the impression of Afro blue And of the promise that was not kept He was a giant step, and there was Ornette Coleman He was another soul man, the original invisible Playing great music, I wonder why the bankers couldn't use it Now listen, see, the real mystery is how music history Created Paul Whiteman or any other white man And pretended he originated And contended that he innovated A jazz thing Scheming on the meaning of a jazz thing Jazz music I love jazz music I love jazz music I love jazz music I love jazz music And this music ain't dead, so don't be misled By those who said that jazz is on its deathbed Cuz when Betty Carter sings this song, ain't nothin' goin' on But simply good music, and you won't refuse it She's takin' her time, makin' the newestest rhymes Sonny Rollins, tenor saxophone, with a big ol' tongue Reciting poems, with notes as words, and haven't you heard? Next stop, Bonham, right past Odium And now there's young cats blowin', and more and more people Yes, they will be knowin', jazz ain't the past, the music's gonna last And as facts unfold, remember who foretold The 90s would be the decade of a jazz thing A jazz thing A jazz thing A jazz thing A jazz thing A jazz thing A jazz thing