Three American Folksongs +1!

Our term two selections are rather fun!



Take me out to the ball game
Take me out to the crowd
Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks
I don't care if I never get back
Cause it's root, root, root
For the home team
If they don't win it's a shame
For it's one,
Two,
Three strikes you're out
At the old ball game

All I need is just one chance
I could hit a home run
There isn't anyone else like me
Maybe I'll go down in history
And it's root, root, root
For the home team
Here comes fortune and fame
'Cause I know
That
I'll be the star
At the old
Ball
Game



In a cavern, in a canyon,
Excavating for a mine,
Dwelt a miner, forty-niner
And his daughter - Clementine

CHORUS:
Oh my Darling, Oh my Darling,
Oh my Darling Clementine.
Thou art lost and gone forever,
Dreadful sorry, Clementine.

Light she was and like a fairy,
And her shoes were number nine,
Herring boxes without topses
Sandals were for Clementine

Drove she ducklings to the water
Every morning just at nine,
Hit her foot against a splinter
Fell into the foaming brine.

Ruby lips above the water,

Blowing bubbles soft and fine,
But alas, I was no swimmer,
[ From: http://www.elyrics.net]
So I lost my Clementine

How I missed her! How I missed her!
How I missed my Clementine,
But I kissed her little sister,
And forgot my Clementine.

Then the miner, forty-niner,
Soon began to peak and pine,
Thought he oughter join his daughter,
Now he's with his Clementine.

In a churchyard near the canyon,
Where the myrtle doth entwine,
There grow roses and the posies,
Fertilized by Clementine.

In my dreams she still doth haunt me,
Robed in garments, soaked in brine;
THen she rises from the water
And I kiss my Clementine.



On top of Old Smokey
All covered with snow,
I lost my true lover
For courting too slow.

Now, courting is a pleasure
And parting is grief,
And a false-hearted lover
Is worse than a thief.

A thief will just rob you
And take what you have,
But a false-hearted lover
Will lead you to the grave.

And the grave will decay you
And turn you to dust;
Not one girl in a hundred
A poor boy can trust.

They'll hug you and kiss you
And tell you more lies
Than the crossties on the railroad
Or stars in the sky.

So, caome all you young maidens
And listen to me,
Never place your affection
On a green willow tree.

For the leaves they will wither,
And the roots they will die,
You'll all be forsaken
And never know why.

On top of Old Smokey
All covered with snow,
I lost my true lover
For courting too slow.



On top of spaghetti,
All covered with cheese,
I lost my poor meatball,
When somebody sneezed.

It rolled off the table,
And on to the floor,
And then my poor meatball,
Rolled out of the door.

It rolled in the garden,
And under a bush,
And then my poor meatball,
Was nothing but mush.

The mush was as tasty
As tasty could be,
And then the next summer,
It grew into a tree.

The tree was all covered,
All covered with moss,
And on it grew meatballs,
And tomato sauce.

So if you eat spaghetti,
All covered with cheese,
Hold on to your meatball,
Whenever you sneeze.