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.
underneath
hydro
looked
horse
grabbed
ganger
across
flynn
filled
going
spike
czech
shovels
again
shoulders
drank
navvy
stripped
money
quarts
retort
behind
christ
called
blood
concrete
pride
rough
slung
darkie
nearly
washed
pints
prayers
reached
remember
cards
russian
seared
tough
short
stairs
shuddering
worked
stopped
grain
sweat
sweated
thames
their
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