They've opened a Folk Expresso Bar,
and once, for a sort of a joke,
I went to drink Folk Expresso there
and watch the Expresso Folk.
The coffee was just the same old stuff
as you get in the posh caffays,
but something about the customers
recalled my Grandpa's days.
They had flowing beards and flowing manes,
Tho' they looked a bit down-at-heels,
and they sang to Moody-Sankey tunes
of their wonderful high ideals.
The girls had hair like my Grandma wore,
and stockings like Aunt Georgette,
and it seemed quite clear that they hadn't heard
of the daily bath as yet.
If it hadn't have been for the atmosphere
I'd never have done such a thing,
but I went right up to the rostrum-place
and said I should like to sing.
I couldn't locate the Pianist,
but I gave 'em the old Lost Chord -
"Seated one day at the whats-his-name"
and golly, how they encored!
One of them wanted to tape my voice
on a little machine he had,
and others told me I was unique
and my song was authentic trad.
So Im studying hard to change my voice
to the right American row,
and growing a beard, for I mean to sing
as a Folk Professional now.
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