Ella Fitzgerald
The Real American Folk Song (Is a Rag)
Near Barcelona the peasant croonedThe old traditional Spanish tunesThe Neapolitan street song sighsYou think of Italian skiesEach nation has a creative veinOriginating a native strainWith folk songs plaintive and others gayIn their own peculiar wayAmerican folk songs, I feelHave a much stronger appealThe real American folksong is a ragA mental jagA rhythmic tonic for the chronic bluesThe critics called it a "joke song," but nowThey've changed their tune, and they like it, somehowFor it's inoculated with a syncopated sort of meter, sweeterThan a classic strain; boy, you can't remain still or quiet, for it's a riotThe real American folksongIs like a fountain of youthYou taste, and it elates you and then invigorates youSongtexteThe real American folksong, the masses coaxed on, is a ragThe real American folksong is a ragA mental jagA rhythmic tonic for the chronic bluesThe critics called it a "joke song" but nowThey've changed their tune, and they like it, somehowFor it's inoculated with a syncopated sort of meter, sweeterThan a classic strain; boy, you can't remain still or quiet, for it's a riotThe real American folksongIs like a fountain of youthYou taste, and it elates you and then invigorates youThe real American folksong is a rag
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