Luyện nghe bài hát The Irish Ballad

Now I'd like to turn to the folk song, which has become in recent years the particularly fashionable form of idiocy among the self-styled intellectual. we find that who deplore the level
Rrent popular songs -- although I admit they do seem to be recording anything these days. have you heard sesue hayakawa's record of remember pearl harbor? these same people who deplore th
El of current popular songs and yet sit around enthralled singing jimmy crack corn and I don't care or green grow the rushes, oh! -- whatever that means. at any rate, for this elite I have
An ancient ballad, which was written a few years ago, and which is replete with all the accoutrements of this art form. in particular, it has a sort of idiotic refrain, in this case ricket
Kety-tin you'll cropping up from time to time, running through, I might add, interminable verses. the large number of verses being a feature expressly designed to please the true devotees
He song who seem to find
Singing fifty verses of on top of old smokey is as enjoyable as singing twenty-five.

This type of song also has what is known technically in music as a modal tune, which means -- for the benefit of any layman who may have wandered in this evening -- that I play a wrong note
And then.

This song though does differ strikingly from the genuine folk ballad in that in this song the words which are to rhyme - actually do.

I, ah, I really should say that - I do not direct these remarks against the vast army of folk lovers, but merely against that peculiar hard core who seem to equate authenticity with artisti
It and with charm.

Oh, one more thing. one of the more important aspects of public folk singing is audience participation, and this to be a good song for group singing. so if any of you feel like joining i
H me on this song, I'd appreciate it if you leave -- right now.

About a maid sing a song,
rickety-tickety-tin,
About a maid I'll sing a
Who didn't her family long.
Not only did she do wrong,
She did of them in, them in,
She did of them in.

One in a fit of pique,
rickety-tickety-tin,
One in a fit of pique,
She drowned her in the creek.
The water bad for a week,
And we had to do with gin, with gin,
We had to make do gin.

Her mother she could stand,
rickety-tickety-tin,
Her mother she cold stand,
And so a cyanide she planned.
The mother died with a in her hand,
And her in a hideous grin, a grin,
Her face in a grin.

She set her hair on fire,
rickety-tickety-tin,
She set her sister's on fire,
And as the smoke and flame high'r,
Danced the funeral pyre,
a violin, -olin,
a violin.

She weighted her brother down stones,
Rickety-tickety-tin,
She her brother down with stones,
And sent him off to jones.
All ever found were some bones,
And occasional of skin, of skin,
Occasional of skin.

One day when she had to do,
rickety-tickety-tin,
One day when she had to do,
She cut her brother in two,
And him up as an irish stew,
And invited the in, -bors in,
the neighbors in.

And when at last the came by,
rickety-tickety-tin,
And when at the police came by,
Her pranks she did not deny,
To do so she would had to lie,
And lying, she knew, was a sin, a sin,
Lying, she knew, was a sin.

My tale, I won't prolong,
Rickety-tickety-tin,
My tragic tale I prolong,
And if you do not the song,
You've to blame if it's too long,
You should have let me begin, begin,
You should have let me begin.