When I was fifteen years of age My father put me into a trade He himself was a carpenter He said I would make the grade. I wanted to be in dad's kind of work But it wasn't meant to be Now im'e happy being a painter It's the only trade for me. My dad said I have a job for you A wonderfull job you will see It's something we can do together Involving graining and carpentry. He showed me a door with woodgrain It came from an old oak tree Now looking at the woodstain It was a job done perfectly. Now everything is going plastic Windows and doors alike The days of of staining Woodwork Has disappeared overnight. It seems we have to face the fact We are living in changing times And we may just have a problem Now the woodland is in decline,