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 spot 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 to wander back,
Or own a abode.
Id see the hawthorn 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, sorrow rake 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 last springtime,
When Erins were green.
The neighbours said her
Was the ever seen.
were snowdrops and primroses
Piled high her bed,
And Ferns was crowded
When her Mass was read.
And here was I on
A-building per load.
they carried out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

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

Ah! Lifes a puzzle,
Past out by man,
Ill take the day for what its
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 my pipe alone.
Each heart must bear its grief
Though be the bode
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.