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 most folk songs are so atrocious is that they were by the
Le. if professional 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 familiar
Ot;clementine", you

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

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

Oh clementine, can't you tell the howls of me
This love of calls to you from the bowels of me.
Are you discerning the
Of this churning, burning, for you-oo-oo... ah-ah...
Well, supposing at this point that mozart (or one of that crowd) had 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 numero nine,
bo-ho-ho-hoxes senza to-ho-ho-hopses,
Sandalae per clementina si, per si,
Per sandalae, per clementina sandalae, per clementine.
Clehementina, clehementina, clehe-he-mentina...

Herring boxes senza topses per clementina,
Herring boxes senza topses 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 this:

Drove ducklings to the water
brach! doddley 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 the foamy brine, dig that crazy clementine, man!
To end on a note, one can always count on gilbert and sullivan for a rousing finale, full of words and music and signifying nothing.

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

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

But I she and she loves me.
are the both of we.
Yes I she and she loves i
And will all eternity!

See I mean?