The Puir Auld Folk At Home, Ye Mind, Are Frail And Failing Sair; And Weel I Ken They'd Miss Me, Lad, Gin I Come Hame Nae Mair. The Grist Is Out, The Times Are Hard, The Kine Are Only Three; I Canna Leave The Auld Folk Now. We'd Better Bide A Wee. 'I Fear Me Sair They're Failing Baith; For When I Sit Apart, They Talk O' Heaven So Earnestly, It Well Nigh Breaks My Heart. So, Laddie, Dinna Urge Me Now, It Surely Winna Be; I Canna Leave The Auld Folk Yet. We'd Better Bide A Wee.'