McAlpine's Fusiliers

Twas down the glen came McAlpine's men, With their shovels slung behind them, Ah- twas in the pub that they drank the sub, Or down in the spike you'll find them, Well 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 Fusileers! I stripped to the skin with Darkie Finn, Way down upon The Isle of Grain, With Horse-face Toole, I learnt the rule: No money if you stop for rain! For McAlpines' God is a well-filled hod, Your shoulders cut-to-bits and seared, And woe to he who went to look for tea! With McAlpine's Fusileers! I remember the day that The Bear O'Shea Fell into a concrete stairs, What Horse-Face said when he saw him dead: It wasn't what The Rich call prayers! I'm a navvy short! was the one retort, That fell unto my ears, When the going is rough then you must be tough! With McAlpine's Fusileers! I worked til the sweat near had me bet, With Russian, Czech and Pole, At shuttering jams up in the hydro-dams, Or underneath The Thames in a hole! I've grafted hard, and I've got me cards, And many a gangers' fist across me ears, So if you pride your life, don't join by Christ With McAlpines Fusileers!