The Real American Folk Song is a Rag
Words by Ira Gershwin and Music by George Gershwin
Words by Ira Gershwin and Music by George Gershwin
Verse 1: Near Barcelona the peasant croons,
The old traditional Spanish tunes;
The Neapolitan Street Song sighs, you think of Italian skies.
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 old traditional Spanish tunes;
The Neapolitan Street Song sighs, you think of Italian skies.
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.
Chorus: The Real American Folk Song 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 inoculated with a syncopated sort of meter, sweeter,
Than a classic strain, Boy! You can't remain still and quiet, for it's a riot!
The Real American Folk Song is like a Fountain of Youth:
You tase, and it elates you, and then invigorates you,
The Real American Folk Song, a master stroke song, is a rag.
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 inoculated with a syncopated sort of meter, sweeter,
Than a classic strain, Boy! You can't remain still and quiet, for it's a riot!
The Real American Folk Song is like a Fountain of Youth:
You tase, and it elates you, and then invigorates you,
The Real American Folk Song, a master stroke song, is a rag.
Verse 2: You may dislike, or you may ,
The native songs from a foreign shore;
They may be songs that you can't forget, They may be distinctive, yet.
They lack a something: a certain snap,
The tempo ticklish that makes you tap,
The invitation to agitate and leave the rest to fate.
A raggy refrain any time, sends me a message sublime.
The native songs from a foreign shore;
They may be songs that you can't forget, They may be distinctive, yet.
They lack a something: a certain snap,
The tempo ticklish that makes you tap,
The invitation to agitate and leave the rest to fate.
A raggy refrain any time, sends me a message sublime.
Chorus: The Real American Folk Song 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 inoculated with a syncopated sort of meter, sweeter,
Than a classic strain, Boy! You can't remain still and quiet, for it's a riot!
The Real American Folk Song is like a Fountain of Youth:
You tase, and it elates you, and then invigorates you,
The Real American Folk Song, a master stroke song, is a rag.
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 inoculated with a syncopated sort of meter, sweeter,
Than a classic strain, Boy! You can't remain still and quiet, for it's a riot!
The Real American Folk Song is like a Fountain of Youth:
You tase, and it elates you, and then invigorates you,
The Real American Folk Song, a master stroke song, is a rag.
