Utt-Da-Zay - Cab Calloway

My mother used to sing to me

A haunting little melody

Nobody knows where it came from

Or where it was composed

«Utt da zay», sings the tailor

As he fashions pretty clothes

«Utt da zay», sings the tailor

As he sews, sews, sews

He’s as busy as a bee

Making lovely finery

Things my baby loves to wear

When I take her to the fair

«Utt da zay», sings the tailor

All it means is, «That's the way»

When I buy the things he made her

Says the tailor, «Utt da zay»

Oh, do you dig, dig, dig?

Do you chop, chop, chop?

Are you hep to this jive

That I’m laying to you?