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McAlpine`s Fusilliers
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Twas in the year of `39, the sky was full of lead,
Hitler was heading for Poland,
And Paddy for Holyhead.
Come over Pincher laddie and your long distance men,
Don`t ever work for McAlpine, Wimpy or John Laing.
For you`ll stand behind the mixer
`Til your skin is turned to tan,
And they`ll say " Good on you Paddy ! "
With your boat fare in your hand.
Oh the Craic was good in Cricklewood
And they wouldn`t leave the town,
There were glasses flying and the Bizzies were crying
The Paddies were going to town.
Oh Mother Dear I`m over here
And never will come back,
What keeps me here is a rake of beer,
The Ladies and the Craic.
(From another song and originally merged by the Dubliners)
As Down the glen came McAlpine`s men
With their shovels slung behind them.
Whilst in the pub they drank their sub,
And up in the Spike you`ll find `em.
They`ve sweated blood and washed down mud,
With pints and quarts of beer,
And now we`re on the road again,
With McAlpines Fusilliers.
I`ve stripped to the skin with the darkie Flynn,
Way down on the Isle of Grain.
With old "Horse Face" O`toole you knew the rule,
No money when you`re stopped for rain,
And McAlpine`s god was a well filled hod,
Your shoulders cut to bits and seared,
And woe to he went to look for tea,
With the McAlpines Fusilliers.
I remember the day when "The Bear" O`shea,
Fell into some concrete stairs.
What old "Horse Face" said when he saw him dead,
Well it wasn`t what the rich`d call prayers.
"I`m a Navvy Short !" was the one retort,
That reached up to my ears.
So when the going gets rough then you must be tough,
With McAlpines Fusilliers.
Oh well I`ve worked til the sweat nearly had me bet,
With the Russians, the Czechs, and the Poles.
Out on the shuttering jams upon the hydro-dams,
Or underneath the Thames in a hole.
Well I`ve grafted hard and I`ve had me cards,
And many a gangers fist across me ears.
So if you pride your life don`t join by Christ,
The McAlpines Fusilliers.