Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Teresa

My are here on Broadway
This harvest morn,
But oh! the ache thats in my
For the spot I was born.
My weary hands are
Through work in and heat!
And oh! to swing a scythe more
Through a field of wheat.
Had I the to wander 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 gold the seas.
Oh, rake their 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 three thousand away
the Old Bog Road.

My mother last springtime,
When Erins fields green.
The neighbours said her
Was the finest seen.
were snowdrops and primroses
Piled high her bed,
And Ferns was crowded
her funeral Mass was read.
And was I on Broadway
A-building per load.
When they out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

There was a decent girl at
Who used to walk me.
Her eyes were and sorrowful
moonlight oer the sea.
Her name was Dwyer,
But that was ago.
The of God are wiser
the things that man might know.
She the day I left her,
bricks per load,
Id best 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 smoke my alone.
Each human heart must bear its
Though bitter be the
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.