Lyrics:

(DickBoultSimmonds)He met the world as a Dalkeith boy,raised from a shaft at MonktonhallIn a well oiled cage,That locked away his dreams,An '85 veteran face from the gallery,A ghost from the civil war in the familyHe stood his ground on the picketline'Til all that he was left withWere his father's coughAnd his mother's eyesThat would hold a tearFor the very first timeWhen the government took his job away.Now fist in hand he'll stand in lineDeclare his name and mark his timeTo some the only proof that they're aliveHe could have been youHe could have been meHe could have been anybodyBut he was born luckyHe made his first down paymentOn a sharp Italian suitHe sewed razor blades into the lapels,See him sweating on the dance floor,Cool dust oozing out of every poreA hard man with a hard life,And that's a story that he'll tell youDown at Easter Road till his throat is rawOn a Saturday, he knows the scoreTill the whistle blows and,The colours with their tempers fade away.He could have been youHe could have been meHe could have been anybodyBut he was born luckyOn the helipads at Aberdeen,Bound for platforms drilling oil rich seas,Where the trawlers are getting fewer every year.By the furnaces at Ravenscraig,By the padlocks holding John Brown's gates,In the desert, in the fields of South Armagh,Where the poppies grow,Behind the Hampden roar,Behind the drums in Genoa.On the deck that rides a South Atlantic swell,Born to figh tout of the tightest corner.You can bet on him with the odds against you.They'll not put him downNo matter how