As down the glen came McAlpine’s men with their shovels slung behind them
'Twas in the pub they drank the sup or 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
With the horsefaced Toole, well you 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 went to look for tea for McAlpine's Fusiliers

I remember the day that the Bear O'Shea fell into a concrete stairs.
What the Horseface said when he saw him dead, well 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 gets rough well you must be tough with McAlpine's Fusiliers

I've worked 'til the sweat nearly had'n me bet, with Russian, Czech and Pole.
On shuttering jams up in hydro dams or underneath the Thames in a hole.
I've grafted 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
If you pride your life don't join by Christ, with McAlpine's Fusiliers