| You’re at death’s door, my beamish boy
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| With a knife at your side and blood in your shoes
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| In the Bridge Street Underground
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| But the cries of a running defeat gives you strength
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| Put the wings on your feet
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| An altar boy, a razor man,
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| Stacked a claim on your face cutting flesh to the bone
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| With the chib in his hand, there’ll be plenty of either tonight
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| As they wheel you in under the lights
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| Glasgow boy, have you had enough of fighting in the streets tonight?
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| Glasgow boy, all your chinas send their love and hope you’ll be all right
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| Stitched up too tight
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| I’ve seen that face before, I know I’ll see many more
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| Feel them patch on the gauze as you bleed for your cause
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| You’re through death’s door, my beamish boy
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| They’ve taken the knight and closed up the holes
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| For your mother to see
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| The palladian tenements fall to the vengeance
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| Your brothers will call
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| Glasgow boy, have you had enough of fighting in the streets tonight?
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| Glasgow boy, all your chinas send their love and hope you’ll be all right
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| Stitched up too tight |
| I’ve seen that face before, I know I’ll see many more
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| Feel them patch on the gauze as you bleed for your cause |