The Old Bog Road ----- Larry Cunningham + Lyrics

My feet are here on Broadway
This blessed harvest morn,
But oh! the ache that´s in them
For the spot where I was born.

My weary hands are blistered
From toil in cold and heat!
But oh! to swing a scythe today
Through a field of Irish wheat.

Had I the choice to wander back,
Or own a king´s abode.
I´d sooner see that hawthorn tree
Down the Old Bog Road.

My mother died last springtime,
When Irelands fields were green.
The neighbours said her waking
Was the finest ever seen.

There were snowdrops and primroses
Piled up beside her bed,
And Ferns Church was crowded
When her funeral Mass was read.

And here was I on Broadway
Building bricks by load.
When they carried out her coffin
Down the old Bog Road.

Life´s a weary puzzle,
Past finding out by man,
I´ll take the day for what it´s worth
I'll do the best I can.

Since no one cares a rush for me
What need to make a moan,
I´ll go my way and draw my pay
And smoke my pipe alone

Each human heart should know it's worth
Though bitter be it's load
So God be with old Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road

Category:

Music

Tags:

• Larry
• Cunningham
• The
• Old
• Bog
• Road

[jonny4415]

@DesignbyOrla utube converter

[tomtesticle]

This is an excellent version................

[DesignbyOrla]

Where can I get an MP3 of this song for my mum? can anyone help please

[jobirgheidi]

Brings back lots of lovely memories - Thanks