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 them instead, things might have turned out considerably differently. for example, consider the old favorite, 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, 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 the howls of me
This love of mine calls to you from the 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 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 bo-ho-ho-hoxes to-ho-ho-hopses,
Sandalae per clementina si, per si,
Per clementina sandalae, per sandalae, per clementine.
Clehementina, clehementina, clehe-he-mentina...

boxes senza topses sandalae per clementina,
Herring boxes senza topses per clementina,
Che sciagura clementina, che clementina, cara clementina, cara
Clementina-na-na-na-na-na-na-na!
Supposing at this 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 to the water
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 crazy clementine, man!
To end on a note, one can always count on gilbert and sullivan for a rousing 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 best to her, say i.

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

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

See I mean?