Near Barcelona the peasant crooned
The old traditional Spanish tunes
The Neapolitan street song sighs
You think of Italian skys
Each nation has a creative vein
Originating a native strain
With folk songs plaintive and others gay
In their own peculiar way
American folk songs I feel
Have a much stronger appeal
The real American folksong is a rag
A mental jag
A rhythmic tonic for the chronic blues
The critics called it a joke song but now
They've changed their tune
and they like it somehow
For it's innoculated
with a syncopated sort of meter sweeter
Than a classic strain boy
you can't remain still or quiet for it's a riot
The real American folksong
Is like a fountain of youth
You taste and it elates you
and then invigorates you
The real American folksong
the masses coaxed on is a rag
The real American folksong is a rag
A mental jag
A rhythmic tonic for the chronic blues
The critics called it a joke song but now
They've changed their tune
and they like it somehow
For it's innoculated
with a syncopated sort of meter sweeter
Than a classic strain boy
you can't remain still or quiet for it's a riot
The real American folksong
Is like a fountain of youth
You taste and it elates you
and then invigorates you
The real American folksong is a rag