The St. Louis Blues

A classic 1914 blues with the habanera rhythm.
words and music by W.C. Handy


The sheet music:


Accompaniment:


Lyrics

  1. I hate to see de ev’nin’ sun go down
    Hate to see de evenin’ sun go down
    Cause my baby, he done lef dis town
    Feelin’ tomorrow lak Ah feel today
    Feel tomorrow lak Ah feel today
    I’ll pack my trunk, make my get away
    St. Louis woman wid her diamon’ rings
    Pulls dat man roun’ by her apron strings
    ‘Twant for powder an’ for store bought hair
    De man I love would not gone nowhere

Chorus
Got de St. Louis Blues jes as blue as Ah can be
Dat man got a heart lak a rock cast in the sea
Or else he wouldn’t have gone so far from me (Dog-gone-it!)

Chorus
I loves dat man lak a school boy loves his pie
Lak a Kentucky Col’nel loves his mint an’ rye
I’ll love ma baby till the day Ah die

  1. Been to de Gypsy to get ma fortune tole
    To de Gypsy done got ma fortune tole
    Cause I’m most wile ’bout ma Jelly Roll
    Gypsy done tole me, “don’t you wear no black”
    Yes she done tole me “don’t you wear no black”
    Go to St. Louis, you can win him back
    Help me to Cairo, make St. Louis by maself
    Git to Cairo find ma ole friend Jeff
    Gwine to pin ma self close to his side
    If Ah flag his train, I sho’ can ride

Chorus
A black headed gal make a freight train jump the track
Said a black headed gal make a freight train jump the track
But a long tall gal makes a preacher ball the Jack

Chorus
Lawd a blonde headed woman makes a good man leave the town
I said blonde headed woman makes a good man leave the town
But a red head woman makes a boy slap his papa down

  1. You ought to see dat stovepipe brown of mine
    Lak he owns de Dimon Joseph line
    He’d make a cross-eyed o’ man go stone blind
    Blacker than midnight, teeth lak flags of truce
    Blackest man in de whole St. Louis
    Blacker de berry, sweeter is the juice
    About a crap game he knows a pow’ful lot
    But when work-time comes he’s on de dot
    Gwine to ask him for a cold ten spot
    What it takes to get it, he’s cert’nly got

Chorus
Oh ashes to ashes and dust to dust
I said ashes to ashes and dust to dust
If my blues don’t get you, my jazzin’ must


Sung here by Fred Feild: