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 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
Boys, you can't remain still and quiet
For it's a riot the real American folk song
Is like a fountain of youth
You taste and it elates you
And then invigorates you
The real American folk song
A masterstroke song is a rag!

You may dislike or you may adore
The native songs from a foreign shore
They may be songs 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 anytime
Sends a message sublime

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
Boys, you can't remain still and quiet
For it's a riot the real American folk song
Is like a fountain of youth
You taste and it elates you
And then invigorates you
The real American folk song
A masterstroke song is a rag!