Luyện nghe bài hát Clementine

I should like to consider the folk song, and expand 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 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 merit 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 boom-boom-boom of the
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 discerning the
Of churning, burning, yearning for you-oo-oo... ah-ah...
Well, supposing at this point that mozart (or one of 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,
per clementina si, per clementina 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, 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 composers had tried writing a verse, the 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 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.

I missed her depressed her young sister named esther,
This to pester she tried.
Now her pestering a festering blister,
You're 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
Must surely have turned in 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 I mean?