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