Recalling the day I left home, I turned around step by step.
I saw my mother's tears flowing.
Holding a hometown that is hard to give up, I buried my head in this hometown where I was born and raised.
Every time I leave home, my mother accompanies me to the ridge. ...
My old mother, go home quickly. It's windy in the mountains, so don't catch cold.
You are a benefactor I cannot repay. My son kowtows to you. ...
How can you not cry in front of your hometown people?
It is said that men don't flick when they have tears. There are people I love here.
Which year and month can I find it?
When can I hug you, hug Xiangguo? I wiped my tears with my hands.
Go, my old mother, my son can't let you go. ...
My old mother, her son is upset, and her mother is worried for thousands of miles. Don't break her heart and cry for her son.
My son has grown up and become independent. Don't make my mother work hard for me.
I turned my head back and forth, and you were still looking at me at the top of the mountain.
Since ancient times, loyalty and filial piety have been in a dilemma. My son can't be filial to you.
Wearing new cloth shoes on her feet, that's Melody accepted by my mother.
Go, go to your southern branch in Flushing in winter, and the swallows nest around the eaves with grass.
Go, I'm going to make great strides, and my happy days will be hard to find.