Gets anything you want in no time
A weekend at Bernie's
Is a few days without any sunshine
I know a right dour-faced bastard
A really nice guy but he hates life
He's got sarcastic eyeballs
And a tongue that can slash like a lock-knife
These faces I've known
Growing up on the streets in the Southside
From the hills of the 'milk
To the parade in the east end
I remember the change
In the accents on the Westside
Making money 'til there's no time left to spend
It's all bullshit but we all still pretend
When I was a wean
I used to sell puff to make money
But we'd smoke all the profit
And by Friday it was no longer funny
I know a guy who's a lightweight
One or two jars and he's buckled
He's the guy that loses keys has to break into his own house
And gets huckled
These faces I've known
Growing up on the streets in the Southside
From the sobs and the schemes
To the art-school dreams of the town
And when I lie awake in the night time
These things I remember
Some happy, some sad
Bring a smile to my face when I'm down
In the Priory or in Sinbad's in Dunoon
I've been all around the world
But, there's nowhere compares to my hometown
The mayhem of Glasgow is buried deep in my blood
And there's no other place where a 'cunt' might not be a put down
It's thirteen degrees and there's folk in the street, in the scud
No' the best place, but there's diamonds in the mud
No' the best place, but there's diamonds in the mud
No' the best place, but there's diamonds
I've got a mate who's a shaman Gets anything you want in no time A weekend at Bernie's Is a few days without any sunshine I know a right dour-faced bastard A really nice guy but he hates life He's got sarcastic eyeballs And a tongue that can slash like a lock-knife These faces I've known Growing up on the streets in the Southside From the hills of the 'milk To the parade in the east end I remember the change In the accents on the Westside Making money 'til there's no time left to spend It's all bullshit but we all still pretend When I was a wean I used to sell puff to make money But we'd smoke all the profit And by Friday it was no longer funny I know a guy who's a lightweight One or two jars and he's buckled He's the guy that loses keys has to break into his own house And gets huckled These faces I've known Growing up on the streets in the Southside From the sobs and the schemes To the art-school dreams of the town And when I lie awake in the night time These things I remember Some happy, some sad Bring a smile to my face when I'm down In the Priory or in Sinbad's in Dunoon I've been all around the world But, there's nowhere compares to my hometown The mayhem of Glasgow is buried deep in my blood And there's no other place where a 'cunt' might not be a put down It's thirteen degrees and there's folk in the street, in the scud No' the best place, but there's diamonds in the mud No' the best place, but there's diamonds in the mud No' the best place, but there's diamonds Explain Request ×
Lyrics taken from
/lyrics/g/gerry_cinnamon/diamonds_in_the_mud.html
