Diamonds in the Mud

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 till 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 ain house and gets huckled

These faces I've known growing up on the streets in the Southside

From the swords in 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 home-town

The mayhem of Glasgow is buried deep in my blood

And there's no other place

Where 'a cunt' might no 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