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 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, you're all
Ot;clementine", you

In a cavern, in a canyon,
dadadada...
A song with no recognizable merit whatsoever, and imagine what might 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 from the boom-boom-boom of the city
She was so pretty, a pity, clementine.

Oh clementine, you tell from the howls of me
This love of 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 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 e come un fairy
E suo shoes nine,
bo-ho-ho-hoxes senza to-ho-ho-hopses,
Sandalae per si, per clementina si,
Per sandalae, per clementina sandalae, per clementine.
Clehementina, clehementina, clehe-he-mentina...

Herring senza topses sandalae per clementina,
Herring senza topses sandalae per clementina,
Che sciagura clementina, che sciagura clementina, cara clementina,
Clementina-na-na-na-na-na-na-na!
Supposing at 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 this:

Drove those ducklings to the
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 up on a splinter
ge mop! huh huh!
Do de do de do do do
Fell into the foamy brine, dig that clementine, man!
To end on a happy note, one can always count on gilbert and sullivan for a rousing finale, full of words and and signifying nothing.

That I missed her depressed her young named esther,
This mister to she tried.
Now her pestering a festering blister,
You're 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 have 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 will all eternity!

See what I