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