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 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, 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 might have happened if, for example, cole porter had 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, can't you from the howls of me
This of mine 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 tried writing a verse, the next one might come out as a baritone aria from an italian opera, somewhat along these lines:

Era e come un fairy
E suo numero nine,
Herring senza to-ho-ho-hopses,
per clementina si, per clementina si,
Per clementina sandalae, per sandalae, per clementine.
Clehementina, clehementina, clehe-he-mentina...

Herring senza topses sandalae per clementina,
boxes senza topses sandalae per clementina,
Che sciagura clementina, che clementina, cara clementina, cara
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 ducklings to the water
Yeah brach! doo doo uh ah!
morning like 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 happy note, one can always count on gilbert and sullivan for a 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 sister's a festering blister,
best to resist her, say i.

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

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

See I mean?