Old Bog Road - Shannon Singers
My feet are here on Broadway
This blessed harvest morn
But oh the ache thats in them
For the lpot where I was born
My weary hands are blistered
Through work in cold and heat
And oh to swingscythe today
Through a field of Irish wheat
Had I the chance to wander back
Or own a kings abode
Id sooner see the hawthorn tree
By the Old Bog Road
When I was young and restless
My mind was ill at ease
Through dreaming of America
And the gold beyond the seas
Oh sorrow rake their money
Tis hard to find the same
And what's the world to any man
If no one speaks his name
I've had my day and here I am
A-building bricks per load
A long three thousand miles away
From the Old Bog Road
Ah Lifes a weary puzzle
Past finding out by man
Ill take the day
For what its worth
And do the best I can
Since no one cares a rush for me
I need is there to moan
Ill go my way and draw my pay
And smoke my pipe alone
Each human heart
Must bear its grief
Though bitter be the bode
So God be with you Ireland
And the Old Bog Road
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