Lucky

He met the world as a Dalmatian boy

Raised from a shaft at Moncton Hall

In a well oiled cage

That locked away his dreams

An `85 veteran face from the gallery

A ghost from the civil war in the family

He stood his ground on the picket line

`Til all that he was left with

Were his father`s cough

And his mother`s eyes

That would hold a tear

For the very first time

When the government took his job away

Now fist in hand he`ll stand in line

Declare his name and mark his time

To some the only proof that they`re alive

He could have been you

He could have been me

He could have been anybody

But he was born lucky

He made his first down payment

On a sharp Italian suit

He sewed razor blades into the lapels

See him sweating on the dance floor

Cool dust oozing out of every pore

A hard man with a hard life

And that`s a story that he`ll tell you

Down at Easter Road till his throat is raw

On a Saturday, he knows the score

Till the whistle blows and

The colors with their tempers fade away

He could have been you

He could have been me

He could have been anybody

But he was born lucky

On 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 fight out of the tightest corner

You can bet on him with the odds against you

They`ll not put him down

No matter how they try