The Old Bog Road - Johnny McEvoy [with Lyrics]

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Johnny McEvoy, Ireland's best-loved singer-songwriter, has been performing now for over four decades. This special anthology features many of his most popular ballads and chart-topping hits, which were recorded at the height of his outstanding career.

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The Old Bog Road - as sung by Johnny McEvoy

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 from working in cold and heat
But oh to swing a 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

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My mother died last springtime when Ireland's fields were green
The neighbours said her waking was the finest ever seen
There were snowdrops and primroses piled high beside her bed
And Fern's 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

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Now life's a weary puzzle past finding out by man
I'd 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 its grief though bitter be the load
So God be with you Ireland and the Old Bog Road

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