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Published on Feb 23, 2008
As down the glen came McAlpine's men With their shovels slung behind them 'Twas in the pub they drank the sub And out in the spike you'll find them They sweated blood and they washed down mud With pints and quarts of beer And now we're on the road again With McAlpine's fusiliers
I stripped to the skin with the Darky Finn Way down on the Isle of Grain With the Horseface Toole I knew the rule No money if you stopped for rain McAlpine's god is a well-filled hod Your shoulders cut to bits and seared And woe to he went to look for tea With McAlpine's fusiliers
I remember the day that the Bear O'Shea Fell into a concrete stairs What the Horseface said when he saw him dead It wasn't what the rich call prayers I'm a navvy short, was the one retort That reached unto my ears When the going is rough you must be tough With McAlpine's fusiliers
I've worked till the sweat it has had me beat With Russian, Czech, and Pole On shuttering jams up in the hydro-dams Or underneath the Thames in a hole I've grafted hard and I've got my cards And many a ganger's fist across my ears If you pride your life don't join, by Christ! With McAlpine's fusiliers