Biografia:
He was vocalist who played good old Irish folk,and irish nationalist songs.He was a great source of enjoyment during the 1970s.
Read more on Last.fm
Quatro anos de trabalho duro!Neste mês de maio fizemos quatro anos no ar. Continuamos trabalhando na divulgação deste maravilhoso instrumento, obrigado por participar da nossa história!
[Verse 1]
D A
My feet are here on Broadway,this blessed harvest morn,
G D A D
But o the ache thats in them for the place where I was born,
D A
My weary hands are blistered,from working cold and heath,
G D A D
But o to swing the scythe again,in a field of Irish wheat,
G A
Had I the chance to wander back or own a King's abode,
D G A D
I'd sooner see the hawthorn tree,by the old bog road.
[Verse 2]
D A
My mother died last springtime,when Ireland's field's were green,
G D A D
The neighbours said her waking was the finest ever seen,
D A
There were snowdrops and primroses,piled high beside her bed,
G D A D
And Ferns Church was crouded,when the funeral mass was said,
G A
But here was I on Broadway,just building bricks by load,
D G A D
When they carried out her coffin down the Old Bog Road.
[Verse 3]
D A
Now life is a weary puzzle,as finding out by man,
G D A D
I take the day for what it's worth,and do the best I can,
D A
Since no one cares a rush for me what need for me to moan,
G D A D
I go my way and draw my pay and smoke my pipe alone,
G A
Each human heart must know it's grief,though bitter be the load,
D G A D
So God be with you Ireland,and the Old Bog Road.
D A
My feet are here on Broadway,this blessed harvest morn,
G D A D
But o the ache thats in them for the place where I was born,
D A
My weary hands are blistered,from working cold and heath,
G D A D
But o to swing the scythe again,in a field of Irish wheat,
G A
Had I the chance to wander back or own a King's abode,
D G A D
I'd sooner see the hawthorn tree,by the old bog road.
[Verse 2]
D A
My mother died last springtime,when Ireland's field's were green,
G D A D
The neighbours said her waking was the finest ever seen,
D A
There were snowdrops and primroses,piled high beside her bed,
G D A D
And Ferns Church was crouded,when the funeral mass was said,
G A
But here was I on Broadway,just building bricks by load,
D G A D
When they carried out her coffin down the Old Bog Road.
[Verse 3]
D A
Now life is a weary puzzle,as finding out by man,
G D A D
I take the day for what it's worth,and do the best I can,
D A
Since no one cares a rush for me what need for me to moan,
G D A D
I go my way and draw my pay and smoke my pipe alone,
G A
Each human heart must know it's grief,though bitter be the load,
D G A D
So God be with you Ireland,and the Old Bog Road.
Johnny Parks
Johnny Preston
Johnny Q Public
Johnny Rain
Johnny Ray