Luyện nghe bài hát The Green Fields of America (or Canada)

Farewell to the groves of and the shamrock
to the girls of old Ireland all 'round
And may their be as merry as ever they could wish for
As far away o'er the I'm bound

My father is old and my mother's right
To leave their own country, it would grieve their heart
Oh, the tears their cheeks, in great floods they are rolling
To that I must die upon some far and foreign shore

But matter to me, where my bones they may lie buried
If in peace and contentment I can my life
The green fields of Amerikay, they daily are
It's there I'll an end to my misery and strife

So pack up your sea stores now, consider it no
Ten a week isn't very bad pay
With no taxes or tithe there to up your wages
Across on the fields of Amerikay

The lint dams are gone and the looms are idle
are the winders of baskets and creels
And away the ocean, go journeyman cowboys
And fiddlers who play out the old mountain

Ah, but I mind the time when old Ireland was
And of her tradesmen did work for good pay
Ah, but since our have crossed the Atlantic
Well, it's now that I must onto Amerikay

And now to conclude and to my ditty
If e'er a friendless Irishman should my way
the best in the house, I will greet him and welcome him
At home on the fields of Amerikay

So pack up your sea stores now, consider it no
Ten dollars a week isn't bad pay
With no or tithe there to devour up your wages
Across on the green of Amerikay