Chords for Hank Locklin 'The Old Bog Road'
Tempo:
101.05 bpm
Chords used:
A
E
D
Bm
F#m
Tuning:Standard Tuning (EADGBE)Capo:+0fret
Start Jamming...
[E] [A]
[D] [E]
[A]
[F#m] [Bm]
[E] My feet are here [A] on Broadway, [Bm] this blessed [E] harvest morn,
But oh, the ache [A] that's in them for [E] the spot where I [A] was born.
[E] My weary hands [A] are blistered [Bm] from workin' coal [E] and heat,
But oh, to [A] swing aside today [E] through fields of [A] Irish wheat,
[D] Had I the chance [A] to [D]
own a [A] king's abode,
I'd sooner see [D] the hawthorn tree [E] by the old [A] bog road.
[D] [E]
[A] [E] My mother [A] died last springtime [Bm] when Ireland's [E] fields were green,
The neighbors [A] say her wiccan [E] was the finest they [A] ever [C#m] seen.
[E] There were snowdrops and [A] primroses [Bm] piled up beside her [E] bed,
And Fern Church [A] was crowded [E] when her funeral mass [A] was said.
[D] But here was I, [A] [D] just buildin' bricks [A] by load,
When they carried out [D] her coffin down [E] the old [A] bog road.
[D] [E]
[A] [E] Now life's a weary [A] puzzle, [Bm] fast finding out [E] by man,
I take the day [A] for what it's worth [E] and do the best [A] I can.
[E] Since no one cares [A] a rush for me, [Bm] why need I make [E] a moan?
I go my way [A] and draw hay [E] and smoke my pipe [A] alone.
[D] Each weary heart [A] must howl its grief, [D] though bitter be [A] the load.
So God be with all I [D]
am [E] and the old bog road.
[A] [D]
[E] [A]
[D] [E]
[A]
[F#m] [Bm]
[E] My feet are here [A] on Broadway, [Bm] this blessed [E] harvest morn,
But oh, the ache [A] that's in them for [E] the spot where I [A] was born.
[E] My weary hands [A] are blistered [Bm] from workin' coal [E] and heat,
But oh, to [A] swing aside today [E] through fields of [A] Irish wheat,
[D] Had I the chance [A] to [D]
own a [A] king's abode,
I'd sooner see [D] the hawthorn tree [E] by the old [A] bog road.
[D] [E]
[A] [E] My mother [A] died last springtime [Bm] when Ireland's [E] fields were green,
The neighbors [A] say her wiccan [E] was the finest they [A] ever [C#m] seen.
[E] There were snowdrops and [A] primroses [Bm] piled up beside her [E] bed,
And Fern Church [A] was crowded [E] when her funeral mass [A] was said.
[D] But here was I, [A] [D] just buildin' bricks [A] by load,
When they carried out [D] her coffin down [E] the old [A] bog road.
[D] [E]
[A] [E] Now life's a weary [A] puzzle, [Bm] fast finding out [E] by man,
I take the day [A] for what it's worth [E] and do the best [A] I can.
[E] Since no one cares [A] a rush for me, [Bm] why need I make [E] a moan?
I go my way [A] and draw hay [E] and smoke my pipe [A] alone.
[D] Each weary heart [A] must howl its grief, [D] though bitter be [A] the load.
So God be with all I [D]
am [E] and the old bog road.
[A] [D]
[E] [A]
Key:
A
E
D
Bm
F#m
A
E
D
[E] _ _ _ [A] _ _ _
[D] _ _ _ _ _ [E] _
_ _ _ _ [A] _ _
_ [F#m] _ _ _ [Bm] _ _
_ _ [E] _ _ My feet are here [A] on Broadway, [Bm] this blessed [E] harvest morn,
But oh, the ache [A] that's in them for [E] the spot where I [A] was born.
[E] My weary hands [A] are blistered [Bm] from workin' coal [E] and heat,
But oh, to [A] swing aside today [E] through fields of [A] Irish wheat,
[D] Had I the chance [A] to _ _ [D]
own a [A] king's abode,
I'd sooner see [D] the hawthorn tree [E] by the old [A] bog road. _ _
_ _ [D] _ _ _ [E] _
_ _ [A] _ _ [E] My mother [A] died last springtime [Bm] when Ireland's [E] fields were green,
The neighbors [A] say her wiccan [E] was the finest they [A] ever [C#m] seen.
[E] There were snowdrops and [A] _ primroses [Bm] piled up beside her [E] bed,
And Fern Church [A] was crowded [E] when her funeral mass [A] was said.
[D] But here was I, [A] _ _ [D] just buildin' bricks [A] by load,
When they carried out [D] her coffin down [E] the old [A] bog road. _
_ _ [D] _ _ _ [E] _
_ _ [A] _ _ [E] Now life's a weary [A] puzzle, [Bm] fast finding out [E] by man,
I take the day [A] for what it's worth [E] and do the best [A] I can.
[E] Since no one cares [A] a rush for me, [Bm] why need I make [E] a moan?
I go my way [A] and draw hay [E] and smoke my pipe [A] alone.
[D] Each weary heart [A] must howl its grief, [D] though bitter be [A] the load.
_ _ So God be with all I _ [D] _ _
am [E] and the _ old bog road.
[A] _ _ _ _ [D] _ _ _ _
[E] _ [A] _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _
[D] _ _ _ _ _ [E] _
_ _ _ _ [A] _ _
_ [F#m] _ _ _ [Bm] _ _
_ _ [E] _ _ My feet are here [A] on Broadway, [Bm] this blessed [E] harvest morn,
But oh, the ache [A] that's in them for [E] the spot where I [A] was born.
[E] My weary hands [A] are blistered [Bm] from workin' coal [E] and heat,
But oh, to [A] swing aside today [E] through fields of [A] Irish wheat,
[D] Had I the chance [A] to _ _ [D]
own a [A] king's abode,
I'd sooner see [D] the hawthorn tree [E] by the old [A] bog road. _ _
_ _ [D] _ _ _ [E] _
_ _ [A] _ _ [E] My mother [A] died last springtime [Bm] when Ireland's [E] fields were green,
The neighbors [A] say her wiccan [E] was the finest they [A] ever [C#m] seen.
[E] There were snowdrops and [A] _ primroses [Bm] piled up beside her [E] bed,
And Fern Church [A] was crowded [E] when her funeral mass [A] was said.
[D] But here was I, [A] _ _ [D] just buildin' bricks [A] by load,
When they carried out [D] her coffin down [E] the old [A] bog road. _
_ _ [D] _ _ _ [E] _
_ _ [A] _ _ [E] Now life's a weary [A] puzzle, [Bm] fast finding out [E] by man,
I take the day [A] for what it's worth [E] and do the best [A] I can.
[E] Since no one cares [A] a rush for me, [Bm] why need I make [E] a moan?
I go my way [A] and draw hay [E] and smoke my pipe [A] alone.
[D] Each weary heart [A] must howl its grief, [D] though bitter be [A] the load.
_ _ So God be with all I _ [D] _ _
am [E] and the _ old bog road.
[A] _ _ _ _ [D] _ _ _ _
[E] _ [A] _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _