Tonart: Gb major
Verse 1
A
D
A
D
My feet are here on Broadway,
A
this blessed harvest morn,
G
D
And oh, the ache that's in them,
A
D
for the place where I was born.
A
D
My weary hands are blistered
A
from work in cold and heat,
G
D
But, to swing aside today
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D
Through fields of Irish wheat
G
D
Had I the chance to wander back
G
D
Or own a king's abode
I'd sooner cede the
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D
G
A
D
Down the old cobbled road
G
D
Each human heart must know it's grief,
G
D
though heavy be the load.
G
So blood be with you, Ireland,
A
D
and the Old Bob Road.
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