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