Down the glen came McAlpine's men, with their shovels slung behind them.
It was in the pub that they drank their 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 Darky Flynn, way down on the Isle of Grain.
With Horseface Toole, I knew the rule, no money if you stop for rain.
For McAlpine's God is a well-filled hod, with your shoulders cut to bits and seared.
And woe to he who looked 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, 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 worked till the sweat near had me beat, with Russian, Czech and Pole.
On shuttering jams up the hydro dams, or underneath the Thames in a hole.
I grafted hard and I got my card, and many a ganger’s fist upon me ears.
If you value your life, don't join, by Christ, with McAlpine's Fusiliers.
released October 1, 2012
Produced by Patrick Clifford
Mark Stewart: Bouzouki
Otherwise performed by Patrick Clifford
Recording assistance: Courtney Greenwood.
Executive Producers: Martin Rutherford, Bernadette Clifford, Wolf Hul, Linda Jeffers, Linda Zdepski, Jim Clare.
By Dominic Behan; © Peter Maurice Music.
Creative Commons image source:
all rights reserved