Тональность: Ab major•
Verse 1
Ab
Db
Gb
Db
Oh, list to the lay of a
Ab
poor Irish harper,
Db
Ab
And scorn not the strength
Db
of his own withered hand,
Ab
Db
But remember his fingers,
Ab
they once could move sharper
Db
Ab
To raise up the memory of his
Db
Ab
Db
Gb
Db
At a fairer wake I could
Ab
twist my shillelagh
Db
Ab
Or trip through a jig
Db
Ab
with my brogues bound
And with straw,
Db
and all the pretty colors
Ab
Around me assembled,
loved her bold Philem Brady,
Db
Ab
Db
The Bard of Armour.
Gb
Ab
Oh, how I long to muse
Db
Ab
on the days of my boyhood.
Though four score and three years
have flitted since then,
Db
But it brings sweet reflection,
Ab
as every young joy should,
Db
Ab
For the merry -hearted boys
Db
make the be st of all men.
And when certain death
Gb
Db
Ab
in his cold arms shall embrace me,
Db
Ab
Who'll allow me to sleep with
Db
sweet Anne Goldberg
Ab
Db
By the side of my Kathleen,
Gb
Db
Ab
my young wife who prays me.
Db
Ab
Then forget Philem Brady,
Db
Ab
Db
the bard of Armagh.
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ТюнерE A D G B E
АккордыAb Db Gb
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