My father was a ploughman in a wee place near Capely
He worked on the land all the days o' his life
By the time he made second he aye said he reckoned
He'd ploughed near on half o' the east nuke of Fife.

He'd feed on at Randerson, Crawhill and Camberton,
Campbell and Camby and Big Rennyhill
At Burnbrae he married, at Kirkton he's buried
But man had he lived, he'd be ploughin' on still

Ah but those days were his days, those ways were his ways
To follow the plow while his back was still strong
But those days are past, and the time come at last
For the weakness of age must give way to the young.

Well I was nae for ploughin', to the sea I was goin'
To follow the fish  and the fisherman's ways
In rain, hail and sunshine, I watch the long run line
No man mere contented he's here working days.

I've long lined the dogger bank,
Pulled the great fish from the deep devil's hole.
I've sighted troal off Shetland, the Faros and Iceland
In weather much worse than a body could bold.

But those days were my days, those ways were my ways
To follow the fish while my back was still strong
But those days are past, and the time come at last
For the weakness of age to make way for the young.

Now my sons they are grown, away they have flown
To search for black oil in the dark northern sea
Like oilman they walk and like Texans they talk 
Aye, there's no much in common 'tween my sons and me.

They've rough rigged on Josephine, Forties and Linnean,
Claymore and Dunlen, the Fisher and Dock,
They've made fortunes for sure, for in one trip ashore
They spend more than I earned in a whole seasons work.

Ah but this day is there day, this way is there way
To ride the rough rigs while there backs are still strong
But their day will pass, and the time come at last
For the weakness of age to make way for the young.

Now my grandsons they're growing, to the school soon be goin'
But the long days of summer they'll spend here with me
We walk through the warm days and talk of the old days
Of the corn and the codfish, the land and the sea.

We'll walk through the fields that my father once tilled,
Talk to the old men who once sailed with me
Man it's been awfully good, I'm showing them all I could
Of the past and the present, what their future might be.

For tomorrow is their day, what will be their way
What will they make o' the land, sea and sky?
Man, I've seen awfully change, but it still seems very strange
To look at the world through a young laddie's eyes.