Lyrics The Real American Folk Song - Ella Fitzgerald

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