Diamonds in the Mud - Gerry Cinnamon

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 know 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 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 round 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 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