(Spoken)
I should like to consider the folk song, and expound 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 people. (Laughter) 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 familiar, "Clеmentine", you know:

In a cavern, in a canyon
Da-da-da, da-da-da-da

...a song with no rеcognizable 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:

(Cole Porter Style)
In a cavern
In a canyon
Excava-hay-hay-hehting for
A mine
Far away from the BOOM-BOOM-BOOM
Of the city –
She was so pretty
What a pity – Clementine!
Oh, Clementine
Can't you tell from the howls of me
This love of mine
Calls to you from the bowels of me
Are, you, dis-cerning
The returning
Of this churning
Burning
Yearning for you
And –
(Spoken)
Well, supposing at this point, that Mozart... or, one of that crowd... had, um, had tried writing a verse, the next one might've come out as a baritone-aria from an Italian opera - somewhat along these lines:

(Mozart Style)
Era legera e come un fairy
E suo shoes numero nine
Herring bo-ho-ho-hoxes senza to-ho-ho-hopses
Sandalae per Clementina si
Per Clementina si
Per Clementina sandalae
Per Clementina sandalae
Per Clementina!

Clementina, Clementina, Cleh-eh-eh-ehmentina
Herring boxes senza topses sandalae per Clementina
Herring boxes senza topses sandalae per Clementina
Che sciagura Clementina
Che sciagura Clementina
Cara Clementina
Cara Clementina-na-na-na-na-na-na-na!

(Spoken)
Supposing, at this rather dramatic juncture in the narrative, one of our modern "cool school" of composers had tried writing a verse, the next one might've come out... a-like this...

(Beatnik Style)
(whispered) A-one, A-two, A-three!
Drove those ducklings to the water, yeprach!
Doodilehdoodoot, yah-hah
Every mornin', like nine a.m., awhoopah
Doodileh doo-doo, beedly-da
Got a-hung upon a splinter
Got a-hung upon a splinter, kloo ge mop!
Hoo, hoot!
Fell into the foamy brine –
Dig that crazy Clementine, man!
(Spoken)
To end on a happy note, one can always count on Gilbert and Sullivan for a rousing finale – full of words and music, and signifying... nothing!

(G&S Finale)
That I missed her, depressed, her
Young sister named Esther
This mister to pester she'd try –
Now her pestering sister's a festering blister
You're best to resist her, say I!

The mister resisted
The sister persisted
I kissed her, all loyalty slipped
When she said I could have her
Her sister's cadaver
Must surely have turned in its crypt!
Yes, yes, yes, yes!

But I love she, and she loves me
And raptured are the both of we
Yes, I love she and she loves I
And will through all eterni-ty!

– See what I mean?