E D A
E D A
E
He met with the world as a Dalkeith boy,
Raised from a shaft at Monktonhall
D
In a well oiled cage,
A
That locked away his dreams.
E
An '85 veteran facefrom the gallery,
B ghost from the civil war in the family,
D
He stood his ground on the picketline.
A
'Til all that he was left with,
E
Were his father's cough
And his mother's eyes.
That would hold a tear
For the very first time,
D A
When the government took his job away.
E
Now fist in hand he'll stand in line.
Declare his name and mark his time.
D A
To some the only proof that they're alive.
CHORUS:
G
He could have been you. _|
He could have been me. |
F | x 2
He could have been anybody |
(Bb) G |
But he was born lucky. _|
G F C
G
He mad his first downpayment,
On a sharp Italian suit.
F C
He sewed razor blades into the lapels,
G
See him sweating on the dancefloor.
Coal dust oozing out of every pore.
F
B hard man with a hard life,
C
And that's a story that he'll tell you,
G
Down at Easter Road till his throat is raw.
On a Saturday, he knows the score,
F
Till the whistle blows and,
C
The tempers with their colours fade away.
{CHORUS}
E D A
E
On the helipads at Aberdeen
Bound for platforms drilling oil rich seas,
D
Where the trawlers are getting fewer
A
Every year.
E
By the furnaces at Ravenscraig,
By the padlocks holding John Brown's gates,
D A
In the desert, in the fields of South Armagh,
E
Where the poppies grow,
Behind the Hampden roar,
Behind the drums in Genoa.
D A
On the deck that rides a south Atlantic swell,
E
Born to fight out of the tightest corner.
You can bet on him with the odds against you,
D
They'll not put him down
A
No matter how hard they try.
{CHORUS}
Repeat
G F C
till end.
Christer Varan