Alas, my love, you do me wrong to cast me off discourteously.
And I have loved you so long, delighting in your company.
I claim my turf with my bird call.
If it wasn't for the blues, I'd have nothing at all.
I sing treble and bass and in between.
Nobody knows the trebles I've seen.
There are no bad notes so don't be afraid.
Blue notes are just differently played.
I am the blues bird. You can be a blues bird too.
If you learn how to sing the blues, it'll cure what's wrong with you.
These blues to which you've referred, can they only be sung by a bird?
Are the blues solo? Are the blues choral?
Is the blues singular? Are the blues floral?
Do you sing the blues because you suffer deep?
Or because you're a bird and so life is cheap?
I'm blue-blooded.
Well, that's a start.
Come on, blues bird, tell me the news.
How does a blue blood sing the blues?
Well, I realize that I'm a bit repressed.
A bit?
But I have a lot of pain and it needs to be expressed.
Do it!
My baby done left me alone.
And I made a fool of myself on the telephone.
Tell it!
She had an affair with her writing instructor.
He taught her how to ride and then he wrote a book about it.
We've got the royal blues.
We are not amused.
We shall sing it again.
Love is a royal pain.
And I feel a proper Charlie.
Thank you, birdie, for showing me the way.
Thank you, Charlie, for coming here to play.
You've shown how the blues can help me.
You're now a member of the blues community.
I feel almost like one of the Holy Poloids.
Almost, not quite.
I feel a certain kinship with those dreadful people that I have to rule.
I feel a sudden urge to reach out and touch someone,
but I've managed to contain it this time.
Bye, King George.