Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Brayton

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

I was young and restless
My was ill at ease,
dreaming of America,
And the beyond the seas.
Oh, sorrow rake money,
Tis hard to the same,
And the world 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 mother died springtime,
Erins fields were green.
The neighbours her waking
Was the ever seen.
There were and primroses
Piled above her bed,
And Church was crowded
When her Mass was read.
And here was I on
A-building per load.
When carried out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

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

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