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 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 whatsoever, and imagine what might 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 from the of me
This love of mine 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 have come out as a baritone aria from an italian opera, somewhat along lines:

Era legera e come un
E suo numero 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...

boxes senza topses sandalae per clementina,
Herring boxes topses 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 writing a verse, the next one might have come out like this:

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

That I her depressed her young sister named esther,
This mister to she tried.
Now her pestering a festering blister,
best to resist her, say i.

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

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

See what I