Mcalpine's Fusiliers

歌詞

'Twas in the year of 'thirty-nine When the sky was full of lead When Hitler was heading for Poland And Paddy, for Holyhead. Come all you pincher laddies And you long-distance men Don't ever work for McAlpine For Wimpey, or John Laing You'll stand behind a mixer Until 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 Crown With glasses flying and Biddys crying Sure Paddy was going to town. Oh mother dear, I'm over here And I'm never coming back What keeps me here is a rake o' beer The ladies and the craic. As down the glen came McAlpines men with their shovels slung behind them 'Twas in the pub that they drank the sup and up 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 Darkie Flynn way down upon the Isle of Grain With the horsed Face O'Toole, 'cos I knew the rule, no money if you stopped for rain. McAlpine's God was a well filled hod, your shoulders cut to bits and seared, And woe to he who looked for tea with McAlpine's Fusiliers I remeber the day that Bear O'Shea fell into a concrete stairs. What Horse Face said when he saw him dead it wasn't what the rich called prayers. I'm a navvy short was the one retort that reached unto my ears When the going's rough then you must be tough with McAlpine's Fusiliers I've worked 'til the sweat nearly had me bet, with Russian, Czech and Pole. On shuddering jams up the hydro dams or underneath the Thames in a hole. I've grabbed it hard and I've got me cards and many a ganger's fist across me ears. If you pride your life don't join by christ, with McAlpine's Fusiliers