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Spoken: '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 'cause Paddy was going to town Oh mother dear, I'm over here and I'm never coming back What keeps me here is the reek o' beer, the ladies and the craic I come from county Kerry, the land of eggs and bacon And if you think I'll eat your fish and chips, oh dear, then you're mistaken... Break out singing: As down the glen came McAlpine's men With their shovels slung behind them It was in the pub that they drank their sub Or down in the spike you'll find them We sweated blood and we washed down mud With quarts and pints of beer But now we're on the road again with McAlpine's Fusiliers I stripped to the skin with Darky Finn Way down upon the Isle of Grain With Horseface Toole I learned the rule Letras de cancionesNo money if you stop for rain For McAlpine's god is a well filled hod Your shoulders cut to bits and seared And woe to he who looks for tea with McAlpine's Fusiliers I remember the day that the Bear O'Shea Fell into a concrete stairs What Horseface said, when he saw him dead, Well it wasn't what the rich call prayers "I'm a navvy short," was his one retort That reached unto my ears When the going is rough, well you must be tough, with McAlpine's Fusiliers I've worked till 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 grafted hard and I 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! From Letras Mania