Date: Fri, 8 Dec 1995 14:04:43 GMT+1
From: CHRISTER VARANchrister Varan
Subject: CRD: Lucky by Fish
Hi, Fish lover.
Here's a song I like very much.....
- Lucky -
from the album "Acustic Session" by Fish
[D] [C] [G]
[D] [C] [G]
[D]He met with the world as a Dalkeith boy,
Raised from a shaft at Monktonhall
In a [C]well oiled cage,
That locked away his [G]dreams.
An [D]'85 veteran facefrom the gallery,
A ghost from the civil war in the family,
He [C]stood his ground on the picketline.
'[G]Til all that he was left with,
Were his [D]father's cough
And his mother's eyes.
That would hold a tear
For the very first time,
When the [C]government took his job [G]away.
Now [D]fist in hand he'll stand in line.
Declare his name and mark his time.
To [C]some the only proof that they're [G]alive.
CHORUS:
He could have been [F]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.
He sewed [D#]razor blades into the [Bb]lapels,
[F]See him sweating on the dancefloor.
Coal dust oozing out of every pore.
A [D#]hard man with a hard life,
And that's a [Bb]story that he'll tell you,
Down at [F]Easter Road till his throat is raw.
On a Saturday, he knows the score,
[D#]Till the whistle blows and,
The tempers with their [Bb]colours fade away.
[D] [C] [G]
On the [D]helipads at Aberdeen
Bound for platforms drilling oil rich seas,
Where the [C]trawlers are getting fewer
Every [G]year.
By the [D]furnaces at Ravenscraig,
By the padlocks holding John Brown's gates,
In the [C]desert, in the fields of South [G]Armagh,
Where the [D]poppies grow,
Behind the Hampden roar,
Behind the drums in Genoa.
On the [C]deck that rides a south Atlantic [G]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
No matter how hard they [G]try.
Repeat
[F] [D#] [Bb]
till end.
Christer Varan
C.Varan@ET.TUDelft.NL
From: CHRISTER VARANchrister Varan
Subject: CRD: Lucky by Fish
Hi, Fish lover.
Here's a song I like very much.....
- Lucky -
from the album "Acustic Session" by Fish
[D] [C] [G]
[D] [C] [G]
[D]He met with the world as a Dalkeith boy,
Raised from a shaft at Monktonhall
In a [C]well oiled cage,
That locked away his [G]dreams.
An [D]'85 veteran facefrom the gallery,
A ghost from the civil war in the family,
He [C]stood his ground on the picketline.
'[G]Til all that he was left with,
Were his [D]father's cough
And his mother's eyes.
That would hold a tear
For the very first time,
When the [C]government took his job [G]away.
Now [D]fist in hand he'll stand in line.
Declare his name and mark his time.
To [C]some the only proof that they're [G]alive.
CHORUS:
He could have been [F]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.
He sewed [D#]razor blades into the [Bb]lapels,
[F]See him sweating on the dancefloor.
Coal dust oozing out of every pore.
A [D#]hard man with a hard life,
And that's a [Bb]story that he'll tell you,
Down at [F]Easter Road till his throat is raw.
On a Saturday, he knows the score,
[D#]Till the whistle blows and,
The tempers with their [Bb]colours fade away.
[D] [C] [G]
On the [D]helipads at Aberdeen
Bound for platforms drilling oil rich seas,
Where the [C]trawlers are getting fewer
Every [G]year.
By the [D]furnaces at Ravenscraig,
By the padlocks holding John Brown's gates,
In the [C]desert, in the fields of South [G]Armagh,
Where the [D]poppies grow,
Behind the Hampden roar,
Behind the drums in Genoa.
On the [C]deck that rides a south Atlantic [G]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
No matter how hard they [G]try.
Repeat
[F] [D#] [Bb]
till end.
Christer Varan
C.Varan@ET.TUDelft.NL
