Into a cabaret, one fatal day, a little songbird flew. Found it so very gay, he thought he'd stay, just to get a bird's eye view. When he heard the jazz band playing, he was happy as a lark. To each measure he kept swaying, and he stayed till after dark. Then back to the land he knew, thrilled through and through, he sailed on in the air. Called all the other birds, and in these words, started gurgling then and there. I'm a little jazzbird, and I'm telling you to be one too. For a little jazzbird is in heaven when it's singing blue. I say it with regret, but you're out of date. You ain't heard nothing yet, till you syncopate. When the going is rough, you will find your troubles all have flown. If you wobble your stuff like the moaning of a saxophone. Just try my recipe, and I'm sure you'll agree. That a little jazzbird is the only kind of bird to be. I say it with regret, but you're out of date. You ain't heard nothing yet, till you syncopate. When the going is rough, you will find your troubles all have flown. If you wobble your stuff like the moaning of a saxophone. Just try my recipe, and I'm sure you'll agree. That a little jazzbird is the only kind of bird to be. I say it with regret, but you're out of date. You ain't heard nothing yet, till you syncopate.