Luyện nghe bài hát Clementine

I should like to consider the folk song, and expand briefly on a theory I have held for some time, to the effect that the reason folk songs are so atrocious is that they were written by the
Le. if professional songwriters had written them instead, things might have turned out considerably differently. for example, consider the old favorite, with which, I'm sure, you're all
Ot;clementine", you

In a cavern, in a canyon,
dadadada...
A song with no recognizable merit whatsoever, and imagine what might have happened if, for example, cole porter had tried writing song. the first verse might have come out like this:

In a cavern, in a canyon,
for a mine,
Far away from the boom-boom-boom of the
She was so pretty, a pity, clementine.

Oh clementine, can't you tell from the of me
This love of mine calls to you the bowels of me.
Are you the returning
Of this churning, burning, for you-oo-oo... ah-ah...
Well, at this point that mozart (or one of that crowd) had tried writing a verse, the next one might have come out as a baritone aria from an italian opera, somewhat along these lines:

Era legera e come un
E suo shoes nine,
bo-ho-ho-hoxes senza to-ho-ho-hopses,
Sandalae per clementina si, per si,
Per clementina sandalae, per sandalae, per clementine.
Clehementina, clehementina, clehe-he-mentina...

boxes senza topses sandalae per clementina,
Herring boxes senza sandalae per clementina,
Che sciagura clementina, che sciagura clementina, cara clementina,
Clementina-na-na-na-na-na-na-na!
Supposing at this rather dramatic juncture in the narrative, one of our modern "cool school" of composers had tried writing a verse, the next one might have come out like

Drove ducklings to the water
brach! doddley doo doo uh ah!
Ev'ry like 9am
Ooh pah! de do de do do do, da!
Got hung up on a splinter, got up on a splinter
ge mop! huh huh!
Do de do de do do do
Fell into the foamy brine, dig crazy clementine, man!
To end on a happy note, one can always count on gilbert and for a rousing finale, full of words and music and signifying nothing.

I missed her depressed her young sister named esther,
This to pester she tried.
Now her pestering sister's a blister,
You're to resist her, say i.

The mister resisted, the persisted,
I kissed her, all slipped.
When she said I could have her, her cadaver
Must surely turned in it's crypt.
Yes, yes, yes, yes!

But I love she and she me.
Enraptured are the of we.
Yes I love she and she i
And through all eternity!

See I mean?