Creole ladies walk along with rhythm in their thighs
|
Rhythm in their feet and in their lips and in their eyes,
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Where do highbrows find the kind of love that satisfies?
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Underneath the Harlem moon!
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There's no fields of cotton; picking cotton is taboo;
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They don't live in cabins like the old folks used to do.
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Their cabin is a penthouse up on Lennox Avenue,
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Underneath that Harlem moon!
|
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Why, they just live on dancing,
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They're never blue or forlorn,
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'Cause it ain't no sin to laugh and grin;
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That's why darkies were born.
|
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Oh, they shout, "Hallelujah!" every time they're feeling low;
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Every sheik is dressed up like a Georgia gigolo,
|
You may call it madness but they call it hi-de-ho,
|
Underneath the Harlem moon!
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-----------------
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Underneath The Harlem Moon
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| Randy Newman |
