Here's that link, and that song

POOR OLD DAD.
Written for John Walsh, by Harry York of England.

The other day while strolling out to have a quiet walk,
And passing by a house I heard some very noisy talk:
Just then a door flew open and an old man tumbled out.
I stopped and asked the people what the bother was about.
An angry lad then asked me what it had to do with me,
And told me for to move on, or he'd quickly let me see;
The old man then got up and shook at him his old gray head,
And leaning on my arm the while, these words are what he said:

Chorus.
You have made your poor old mother weep for you from night "till morn,
You have made your poor old father curse the day that you were horn;
You'll wish you'd never served us so when we're dead, my lad,
May your own children serve you just as you have served your dad.

As the old man spoke those little words his bent form shook with age,
And several times he cursed his boy, who trembled then with rage;
Just then the poor old mother came with tottering steps so slow
Again the lad struck at his dad-she tried to stop the blow:
Tears came trickling down her cheeks, she fell close at his feet, )
While the angry crowd commenced to shout and murmur in the street;
You've drove us out, the old man cried, to the poorhouse we must go,
And when you're old and feeble, may your children serve you so.-Chorus.

I raised the poor old lady, and I said, now mother, conic,
You shall not go to the poorhouse, for I'll find you both a home:
But, ah, what means those cold, cold hands, for never a word she said,
'Tis true her heart is broken, yes, the poor old mother's dead;
Not very long the old man lived, but soon followed his old bride.
And in the quiet churchyard now they are sleeping side by side;
And one day o'er their grave was seen their bad son 'neath the trees,
And mournfully I thought I heard these words float on the breeze:-Chorus.