Lyrics:

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

Theyve changed their tune, and they like it, somehow



For its innoculated with a syncopated sort of meter, sweeter

Than a classic strain, boy you cant remain, still or quiet, for its 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



(instrumental break)



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

Theyve changed their tune, and they like it, somehow



For its innoculated with a syncopated sort of meter, sweeter

Than a classic strain, boy you cant remain, still or quiet, for its 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