Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Brayton

My feet are on Broadway
This harvest morn,
But oh! the ache thats in my
For the spot I was born.
My weary hands are
work in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a scythe once
Through a of Irish wheat.
Had I the chance to back,
Or own a abode.
Id see the hawthorn tree
By the Old Bog Road.

When I was and restless
My was ill at ease,
Through of America,
And the beyond the seas.
Oh, rake their money,
Tis hard to the same,
And the world to any man
If no one his name.
Ive had my day and I am
A-building per load.
A long three thousand away
the Old Bog Road.

My died last springtime,
When Erins were green.
The neighbours said her
Was the ever seen.
were snowdrops and primroses
Piled high her bed,
And Church was crowded
When her Mass was read.
And here was I on
bricks per load.
When carried out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

There was a decent girl at
Who used to walk me.
Her eyes were soft and
moonlight oer the sea.
Her was Mary Dwyer,
But that was ago.
The of God are wiser
the things that man might know.
She died the day I her,
A-building per load,
Id best forget the days Ive
On the old Bog Road.

Ah! Lifes a puzzle,
finding out by man,
Ill take the day for what its
And do the I can.
no one cares a rush for me
What is there to moan,
Ill go my way and my pay
And my pipe alone.
Each heart must bear its grief
Though bitter be the
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.