As down the glen came Mc Alpine’s men
With their shovels slung behind them
It was in the pub that they drank their sub
And up in the spikes you’ll find them
They sweated blood and washed down mud
With pints and quarts of beer
And now we’re on the road again
With Mc Alpine’s fusiliers

I stripped to the skin with the Darky Finn
Way down upon the isle of grain
With Horseface Toole we knew the rule
No money if you stop for rain
For Mc Alpine’s God was a well filled hod
With your shoulders cut to bits and seared
And woe to he who looks for tea
With Mc Alpine’s fusiliers

I remember the day that the Bear O’Shea
Fell into a concrete stair
What Horseface said when he saw him dead
It was’nt what the rich called prayers
" I’m a navvy short ", was his one retort
That reached onto my ears
When the goin’ is rough, well you better be tough
With Mc Alpine’s fusiliers

I’ve worked till the sweat has had me beat
With Russian, Chech and Pole
At shuttering jams up in the hydro dams
And down beneath 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 you life don’t join for strife*
With Mc Alpine’s fusiliers. * Editor’s note