My Zaide lives with us in my parents home He used to laugh; he'd put me on his knee And he spoke about his life in Poland He spoke, but with a bitter memory And he spoke about the soldjeirs who would be beat him They laughed at him; they tore his long black coat And he spoke about a synagogue they burned down And the crying that was heard beneath the smoke But Zaide made us laugh Zaide made us sing And Zaide made us kiddush Friday night And Zaide, oh my Zaide how I love him so And Zaide used to teach me wrong from right But Zaide made us laugh Zaide made us sing And Zaide made a seder Pesach night And Zaide, oh my Zaide how I love him so And Zaide used to teach me wrong from right