If my old Dad could see us now,
he'd have a look at every cow.
He'd lean across the old field gate
just like he did each day at eight.
He'd see the stock through wise old eyes,
he knew the weather from the skies.
Old wisdom stored inside his head.
A farmer born, a farmer bred.
He knew the land, the fields, the brook.
He'd tell us off with just a look.
He'd work so far into the night,
he made sure everything was right.
He ploughed a furrow straight and true,
no GPS then, he just knew.
He had the way of folk back then,
the strong and wise old countrymen.
I see him now with stick in hand,
a man who truly knew the land.
The world has changed, the shadows fall
his cap still hangs in our old hall.
What would he think of all the hate
that people bring to the farm gate.
The ones who think that we do wrong,
I know he'd want us to be strong.
So stand up tall and fill those boots
we are the ones at the grass roots.
Lead by example, respect the land
and try and help folk understand.