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 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, with which, I'm sure, you're all
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 tried writing this song. the first verse might have out like this:

In a cavern, in a canyon,
for a mine,
Far away the boom-boom-boom of the city
She was so pretty, a pity, clementine.

Oh clementine, can't you tell 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 that crowd) had tried writing a verse, the next one might have come out as a aria from an italian opera, somewhat along these lines:

Era legera e come un
E suo shoes nine,
bo-ho-ho-hoxes senza 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 topses sandalae 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 a verse, the next one might have come out like this:

Drove those ducklings to the
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 up on a splinter
ge mop! huh huh!
Do de do de do do do
Fell into the foamy brine, dig that clementine, man!
To end on a happy note, one can always count on gilbert and sullivan for a rousing finale, of words and music and signifying nothing.

That I missed her her young sister named esther,
This to pester she tried.
Now her pestering sister's a blister,
You're best to her, say i.

The resisted, the sister persisted,
I her, all loyalty slipped.
When she said I 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 what I