Hey, Buddy Bolden
I heard you play
In my dreams of yesterday
Taking your trumpet to the street
Leading the band with your swinging beat
But now you wander like a ghost
Far from those places that you loved the most
You’re the king of the trumpet without your crown
Gone and forgotten in your own home town
And that’s why, I’m singing the Blues for you
Nobody here will ever know
The sounds that came from your horn
The way you made the dance hall swing
And made the ladies shake their thing
Oh, Mr. Bolden, we’ll never know just how…
So let the tuba player play it now
And now the piano player will tickle the ivories in your memory
And the clarinet player play a filigree
Like those wrought iron railings down on Bourbon Street
No jazz band played your funeral
They laid you in a pauper’s grave
Nobody knows where your body lays
And it’s a mystery till this very day
Hey, Buddy Bolden
I thought I heard you play
In my dreams of yesterday
You were the king of the trumpet
But you lost your crown
Gone and forgotten in your own home town