Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Brayton

My feet are on Broadway
This harvest morn,
But oh! the thats in my heart
For the spot I was born.
My weary are blistered
Through work in and heat!
And oh! to a scythe once more
Through a field of wheat.
Had I the chance to back,
Or own a abode.
Id see the hawthorn tree
By the Old Bog Road.

When I was and restless
My was ill at ease,
dreaming of America,
And the beyond the seas.
Oh, sorrow rake money,
Tis to find 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 died last springtime,
Erins fields were green.
The said her waking
Was the ever seen.
There were and primroses
Piled above her bed,
And Ferns Church was
When her funeral was read.
And was I on Broadway
A-building per load.
When carried out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

There was a decent 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
the things that man might know.
She the day I left her,
A-building per load,
Id forget the days Ive spent
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.
Since no one cares a 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.