Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Teresa

My are here on Broadway
blessed harvest morn,
But oh! the thats in my heart
For the where I was born.
My weary are blistered
work in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a scythe more
Through a of Irish wheat.
Had I the chance to 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 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 three miles away
the Old Bog Road.

My died last springtime,
When Erins were green.
The said her waking
Was the finest seen.
There were and primroses
Piled above her bed,
And Church was crowded
her funeral Mass was read.
And was I on Broadway
A-building per load.
they carried out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

There was a decent at home
Who to walk with me.
Her were soft and sorrowful
Like oer the sea.
Her name was Dwyer,
But that was ago.
The of God are wiser
Than the that man might know.
She the day I left her,
A-building per load,
Id best forget the days Ive
On the old Bog Road.

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