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