Cole Porter was a genius at hiding things in plain sight. When people talk about the Let’s Do It song, they usually think of a cute, bouncy jazz standard that mentions birds and bees. It’s a wedding staple. It’s "classy." But honestly? If you actually look at the lyrics Porter wrote in 1928, the song is basically a massive middle finger to the censors of the Jazz Age. It’s hilarious, deeply suggestive, and surprisingly scientific for a Broadway tune.
The song debuted in the musical Paris, performed by Irène Bordoni. At the time, you couldn’t just sing about sex on stage. You had to be clever. You had to use metaphors. Porter didn't just use metaphors; he turned the entire animal kingdom into a giant orgy of double entendres. It's a list song. It's a comedy routine. It's a masterpiece of "I can't believe he got away with that."
The Science of the Let’s Do It Song
Most people know the famous opening lines. Birds do it, bees do it. Even educated fleas do it. It sounds innocent enough, right? Wrong. Porter was leaning into the "nature" defense. He was arguing—with a wink—that if every living creature on Earth is getting busy, why shouldn't we?
It’s actually fascinating how specific he gets. He mentions "lithuanians and Letts," which caused some controversy because people weren't sure if he was making fun of ethnicities or just looking for a rhyme. But the real meat is in the biology. He mentions sponges. He mentions oysters. He mentions "electric eels," which he claims give a "shock of it."
He was essentially writing a catalog of biological urges.
The Verses You Never Hear
There are dozens of verses for this song. Seriously. Porter was a lyric machine. Depending on which recording you listen to—whether it’s Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, or Alanis Morissette—you’re going to hear a different version of the story.
Ella Fitzgerald’s version is probably the gold standard. Her 1956 recording for the Cole Porter Songbook is crisp, rhythmic, and captures the playful irony perfectly. She has this way of singing "Even beans do it" that makes you realize she’s totally in on the joke.
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But then you have the more modern takes. Joan Jett did a version. The White Stripes did a version. Each one peels back a different layer of the song’s inherent cheekiness. It’s one of those rare pieces of music that can be punk rock, high-society jazz, or a Broadway showstopper all at once.
Why Censors Couldn't Touch It
Back in the late 20s, the Hays Code wasn't fully in effect yet, but the "moral police" were definitely watching. They hated the Let’s Do It song because they knew what it was about, but they couldn't prove it. How do you ban a song about birds and bees? You'd look like an idiot.
Porter’s trick was the refrain: "Let’s do it, let’s fall in love."
By tacking on "let's fall in love" at the end of the phrase, he gave himself plausible deniability. He could claim the song was about romance. Everyone knew it wasn't. It was about the physical act. But that little linguistic safety net kept the song on the radio and in the theaters.
The Evolution of the Lyrics
Porter actually had to change the lyrics over time. In the original 1928 version, there were lines that used racial slurs or insensitive groupings common for the era. As the decades passed and social standards shifted, Porter (and later performers) swapped those lines for more references to fish, insects, and European aristocrats.
It’s a living document of 20th-century social change.
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The song’s longevity is wild. Think about it. We’re still talking about a song written nearly a hundred years ago. Why? Because the "do it" hook is universal. It’s the ultimate "nudge-nudge, wink-wink" moment in American music history.
The Musical Structure of a Hit
Musically, it’s not that complicated. It’s a standard AABA structure for the most part, but the rhythm is what sells it. It has this walking bassline feel that mimics a strut. It’s confident. It’s smug.
When you listen to the Let’s Do It song, pay attention to the pauses. The silence after "Let's do it" is where the real meaning lives. It’s a gap that the audience is supposed to fill with their own imagination.
- The Tempo: Usually played at a mid-tempo "swing" that feels like a casual conversation.
- The Rhymes: Porter was the king of internal rhyme. "Cold Cape Cod clams, 'gainst their wish, do it." The alliteration there is just chef's kiss.
- The Range: It’s an easy song to sing. It doesn't require a four-octave range. It requires personality.
How to Appreciate the Song Today
If you want to dive into the world of Cole Porter, don't just stop at the radio edit. Look for the "lost" verses. Some of them are incredibly bold. He mentions "Goldfish in the privacy of bowls." He mentions "English people" who "don't ever let you know they're doing it."
It’s social commentary disguised as a ditty.
Kinda makes you realize that the songwriters of the 1920s were way more "edgy" than we give them credit for. They just didn't have to swear to get their point across. They used wit instead of shock value.
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Key Versions to Listen To:
- Ella Fitzgerald (1956): The definitive vocal performance.
- Louis Armstrong (1957): For that gravelly, soulful humor.
- The White Stripes (2003): To see how well the song works as a raw, bluesy stomp.
- Eartha Kitt: If you want to hear the song at its most seductive and dangerous.
The song basically proves that humans have been obsessed with the same thing since the beginning of time, and we’ve always found funny ways to talk about it when the boss isn't looking.
Actionable Insights for Music Lovers
To truly understand the Let's Do It song, you need to look past the melody.
Start by comparing the 1928 original sheet music lyrics to a 1950s recording. You'll see exactly where the culture shifted. If you’re a performer, the trick to this song isn’t hitting the notes; it’s the "subtext." You have to sing it like you’re sharing a secret.
For those building a classic jazz playlist, use this track as a bridge between the "sweet" jazz of the early 20s and the more "hot" jazz that followed. It sits right in the middle. It’s sophisticated enough for a cocktail party but "naughty" enough for a late-night lounge set.
Next time it comes on, don't just hum along. Listen to the mentions of the "Dutch in Old Amsterdam" or the "Finns." Realize that Porter was painting a picture of a global, biological impulse that connects everyone—from the tiniest flea to the most "educated" person in the room. It’s a song about connection, wrapped in a joke, tied with a bow of musical genius.
Check out the "Great American Songbook" archives if you want to see the original handwritten lyric sheets. Seeing Porter's crossed-out lines gives you a real sense of how hard he worked to make "doing it" sound like the most natural thing in the world.