Luyện nghe bài hát Clementine

I should like to consider the song, and expand briefly on a theory I have held for some time, to the effect that the reason most 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, all familiar
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 had tried writing this song. the first verse might have come out like this:

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

Oh clementine, you tell from the howls of me
love of mine calls to you from the bowels of me.
Are you the returning
Of churning, burning, yearning for you-oo-oo... ah-ah...
Well, supposing at this point 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 un fairy
E suo shoes nine,
Herring senza to-ho-ho-hopses,
Sandalae per si, per clementina si,
Per sandalae, per clementina sandalae, per clementine.
Clehementina, clehementina, clehe-he-mentina...

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

Drove those to the water
Yeah brach! doo doo uh ah!
Ev'ry morning 9am
Ooh pah! de do de do do do, da!
Got hung up on a splinter, got a-hung up on a
ge mop! huh huh!
Do de do de do do do
Fell into the brine, dig that 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.

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

The mister resisted, the persisted,
I kissed her, all slipped.
she said I could have her, her sister's 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 what I