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All down the glen came McAlpines men with their shovels slung behind them
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'Twas in the pub that they drank their sup and up in the spike you'll find them
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They sweated blood and they washed down mud with pints and quarts of beer
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And now we're on the road again with McAlpine's Fusiliers
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I stripped to the skin with Darkie Flynn way down upon the Isle of Grain
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With the horsefaced Toole, 'cos I knew the rule, no money if you stopped for rain.
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McAlpine's God was a well filled hod, your shoulders cut to bits and seared,
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And woe to he who went to look for tea with McAlpine's Fusiliers
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I remember the day that Bear O'Shea fell into a concrete stairs.
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What Horseface said when he saw him dead well it wasn't what the rich called prayers.
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I'm a navvy short was the one retort that reached unto my ears
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When the going is rough well you must be tough with McAlpine's Fusiliers
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I've worked 'til the sweat has had'n me bet, with Russian, Czech and Pole.
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On shuddering jams up at the hydro dams or underneath the Thames in a hole.
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I've grabbed it hard and I've got me cards and many a ganger's fist across me ears.
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If you pride your life don't join by Christ, with McAlpine's Fusiliers