Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Brayton

My feet are on Broadway
This harvest morn,
But oh! the ache thats in my
For the spot I was born.
My hands are blistered
Through work in 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.

When I was young and
My was ill at ease,
dreaming of America,
And the beyond the seas.
Oh, rake their money,
Tis hard to the same,
And the world to any man
If no one his name.
Ive had my day and I am
bricks per load.
A long three thousand away
the Old Bog Road.

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

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

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