Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Brayton

My are here on Broadway
blessed harvest morn,
But oh! the ache thats in my
For the where I was born.
My weary hands are
Through in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a scythe once
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,
Through of America,
And the beyond the seas.
Oh, sorrow their money,
Tis to find the same,
And whats the to any man
If no one his name.
Ive had my day and I am
bricks per load.
A long three thousand miles
the Old Bog Road.

My died last springtime,
Erins fields were green.
The said her waking
Was the finest seen.
There snowdrops and primroses
Piled high her bed,
And Ferns was crowded
When her funeral was read.
And was I on Broadway
bricks per load.
When they carried out her
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
Than the that man might know.
She the day I left her,
bricks per load,
Id best the days Ive spent
On the old Bog Road.

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