Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Teresa

My are here on Broadway
This harvest morn,
But oh! the ache thats in my
For the where I was born.
My hands are blistered
Through in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a once more
Through a field of wheat.
Had I the to wander back,
Or own a abode.
Id sooner see the tree
By the Old Bog Road.

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

My mother died springtime,
When Erins fields green.
The neighbours her waking
Was the finest seen.
were snowdrops and primroses
Piled above her bed,
And Ferns was crowded
her funeral Mass was read.
And here was I on
bricks per load.
When carried out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

There was a girl at home
Who used to with me.
Her eyes were soft and
moonlight oer the sea.
Her was Mary Dwyer,
But was long ago.
The ways of God are
Than the things that man know.
She the day I left her,
bricks per load,
Id best forget the Ive spent
On the old Bog Road.

Ah! a weary puzzle,
Past out by man,
Ill take the day for what its
And do the I can.
Since no one a rush for me
need is there to moan,
Ill go my way and my pay
And smoke my alone.
Each human heart bear its grief
bitter be the bode
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.