It wis jist a skelp o the muckle furth. A sklyter o roch grun. Fin Granfadder's fadder bruke it in Fae the hedder an the funn. Granfadder sklatit barn an byre, Brocht water tae the close, Pat fail-dykes ben the bare brae face An a cairt road tull the moss.
Bit wir fadder softert the yard An skeppit amo bees A pi keepit fancy dyeuks an doos At warna muckle eese. He bocht aul wizzent horse an kye, An scrimpit muck and seed; Syne clocherin wi a craichly hoast, He dwine't awa an deed.
Midder's growein aal an deen, Dyle't an smaa-bookit tee. Bit stull she's maister o her wark. My wark, it maisters me. Och, I'm tire't o plyterin oot an in Amo hens an swine an kye, Kirnin amo brookie pots A yirnin croods an fye.
I look far ower by Ythanside Tae Fyvie's laich, lythe laans, To Auchterless an Bennachie An the mist-blue Grampians. Sair't o the hill o Bennygoak An scunnert o the ferm, Gin I bit daar't, gin I bit daar't, I’d flit the comin term.
It's ull to thole on the first Spring day Fin the black earth lies in clods, An the teuchat's wallochin to the ploo An the sna bree rins on the roads. 0, it's ull to thole i the stull hairst gloam, Fin the lift's a bleeze o fire; I stan an glower, the pail in my han, On ma road oot tull the byre.
Bit it's warst avaa aboot Wutsunday Fin the nichts are quaet an clear, An the floorin curran's by i the yard An the green corn's in the breer; An the bird at gid this hull its name, Yon bird ye nivver see, Sits doon i the wid by the water-side An laachs, laich-in at me.
"Flit, flit ye feel," says the unco bird. “There’s finer, couthier folk An kinlier country hine awa Fae the hull o Bennygoak. " Bit ma midder's growein aul an deen An likes her ain fireside. Twid brak her hert to leave the hull: It's brakkin mine to bide.