Underneath the Harlem Moon - Randy Newman

Creole babies walk along

Rhythm in their thighs

Rhythm in their hips and in their lips and in their eyes

Where do highbrows find

The kind of love that satisfies?

Underneath the Harlem moon

They don’t pick no cotton

Picking cotton is taboo

They don’t live in cabins

Like the old folks used to do

Their cabin is a penthouse

Up on Lennox Avenue

Underneath the Harlem moon

They just live for dancing

They’re never blue or forlorn

Ain’t no sin

To laugh or grin

That’s why darkies were born

They shout «Hallelujah!»

every time they’re feeling low

And every sheik is dressed up like a Georgia gigolo

You may call it madness, but I call it hi-de-ho

Underneath the Harlem moon