March
Thursday 22 January 2009 photo 1/1
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Hitta massa bra bilder på Fotosidan men dom får man ju inte sno så jag vart tvungen att Googla på Irland. Jag är helt sänkt i irländsk folkmusik för tillfället.
Vet inte vad men det är dialekten, rytmen och patriotismen som får en att bara vråla med i dessa sånger som fötts på pubar av män med dialekt å ölkaggar!:
On the fourth of July eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand city hall in New York
'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft
And oh, how the wild winds drove her.
She'd got several blasts, she'd twenty-seven masts
And we called her the Irish Rover.
We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the grand city hall in New York
'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft
And oh, how the wild winds drove her.
She'd got several blasts, she'd twenty-seven masts
And we called her the Irish Rover.
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