Luyện nghe bài hát Clementine

I 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 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, all familiar
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 from the boom-boom-boom of the city
She was so pretty, a pity, clementine.

Oh clementine, can't you from the howls of me
This love of mine calls to you 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 baritone aria from an italian opera, somewhat these lines:

Era legera e come un
E suo numero nine,
Herring senza to-ho-ho-hopses,
Sandalae per si, per clementina si,
Per clementina sandalae, per sandalae, per clementine.
Clehementina, clehementina, clehe-he-mentina...

Herring boxes topses sandalae per clementina,
Herring senza topses sandalae per clementina,
Che sciagura clementina, che sciagura clementina, clementina, cara
Clementina-na-na-na-na-na-na-na!
Supposing at this rather 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 ducklings to the water
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 gilbert and sullivan for a rousing finale, full of and music and signifying nothing.

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

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

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

See I mean?