Jimmy-OLD BOG ROAD

OLD BOG ROAD (Traditional) MY FEET ARE HERE ON BROADWAY THIS BLESSED HARVEST MORN BUT OH THE ACHE THAT'S IN THEM FOR THE PLACE WHERE I WAS BORN MY WEARY HANDS ARE BLISTERED FORM WORK IN COLD AND HEAT BUT OH TO SWING THE SCYTHE AGAIN IN A FIELD OF IRISH WHEAT HAD I THE CHANCE TO JOURNEY BACK OR OWN A KING'S ABODE I'D RATHER SEE THE HAWTHORN TREE AND THE OLD BOG ROAD MY MOTHER DIED LAST SPRINGTIME WHEN IRELAND'S FIELDS WERE GREEN THE NEIGHBORS SAID HER WAKING WAS THE FINEST EVER SEEN THERE WERE SNOWDROPS AND PRIMROSES PILED HIGH BESIDE HER BED AND FERRANS CHURCH WAS CROWDED WHEN THE FUNERAL MASS WAS READ BUT HERE WAS I ON BROADWAY JUST BUILDING BRICKS BY LOAD WHEN THEY CARRIED OUT HER COFFIN DOWN THE OLD BOG ROAD NOW LIFE'S A WEARY PUZZLE PAST FINDING OUT BY MAN I TAKE THE DAY FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH AND DO THE BEST I CAN SINCE NO ONE CARES A RUSH FOR ME WHAT NEED FOR ME TO MOAN I GO MY WAY AND DRAW MY PAY AND SMOKE MY PIPE ALONE EACH HUMAN HEART MUST KNOW IT' GRIEF THOUGH BITTER BE THE LOAD SO GOD BE WITH YOU IRELAND AND THE OLD BOG ROAD