Album Name : Gangs of New Holland
Release Date : 2010-09-21
Song Duration : 2:47
Rumjacks Mcalpines Fusiliers
As down the glen came McAlpines men with their shovels
slung behind them
'Twas in the pub that they drank the sub 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
Wi' that horsed Face O'Toole, sure we 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 remember 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, sure 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
