Tonalité : Db major
Verse 1
Db
Fm
Db
Gb
Oh list to the lay
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Ab
of a poor Irish harper
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Ab
Db
And scorn not the strains of his old,
Ab
withered hands
Db
But remember his fingers,
Ab
they once could move sharper
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Ab
To raise up the memory
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Ab
Db
Ab
of his dear native land
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Gb
At a fair or a wake,
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Ab
I could twist my shillelagh
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Ab
Or trip through a jig with
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Ab
my brogues bound with straw
Db
And all the pretty colleens around
Ab
me assembled
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Ab
Loved their bold Phelim Brady,
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Ab
Db
Ab
the bard of Armagh
Fm
Db
Gb
Db
Oh, how I long to muse on
Ab
the days of my boy hood
But four score and three years
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Ab
have flitted since then
Db
But they bring sweet reflections,
Ab
as every young joy should
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Ab
For, the merry hearted boys makes the
Db
be st of old men
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Gb
And when sergeant death,
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Ab
in his cold arms shall embrace me
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Ab
And lull me to sleep with
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F
Fm
sweet Erin go bragh
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Gb
By the side of my Kathleen,
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Ab
my young wife then place me
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C
Ab
Then forget Phelim Brady,
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Ab
C
the bard of Armagh
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