McAlpines Fusiliers Lyrics And Chords
The Dubliners song lyrics, Written by Dominic Behan. The 5 string banjo chords are included in A Major. Guitar chords are in chordpro. This song is about Irishmen who emigrated to England to work on building sites and motorways. This one is normally associated with Ronnie Drew, but was also recorded by Luke Kelly in his hay-day and by Paddy Reilly, The Pecker Dunne, The High Kings, The Rumjacks and The Clancy Brothers. An Irish folk song. McAlpines Fusiliers Sheet Music Notes .
Poem Before McAlpines Fusiliers
It was in the year of 39 when the sky was full of lead.
When Hitler was heading for Poland and Paddy for Hollyhead.
Come all you pincher laddies and you long distant men.
Don't ever work for McAlpine for Whimpy or John Lang.
For you'll stand behind a mixer till your skin is turned to tan.
And they'll say good on you Paddy with your boat fare in your hand
The craic was good in Cricklewood we wouldn't leave the Crown
With bottles flying and Biddies crying sure Paddy was on the town
Oh mother dear I'm over here and I'm never coming back
What keeps me here is the rake of beer the women and the craic.
It was in the year of 39 when the sky was full of lead.
When Hitler was heading for Poland and Paddy for Hollyhead.
Come all you pincher laddies and you long distant men.
Don't ever work for McAlpine for Whimpy or John Lang.
For you'll stand behind a mixer till your skin is turned to tan.
And they'll say good on you Paddy with your boat fare in your hand
The craic was good in Cricklewood we wouldn't leave the Crown
With bottles flying and Biddies crying sure Paddy was on the town
Oh mother dear I'm over here and I'm never coming back
What keeps me here is the rake of beer the women and the craic.
As[A] down the glen came Mc[D]Alpines men
With their[A] shovels[E] slung be[A]hind them
'Twas[A] in a pub that they[D] drank[E] their[D] sub
And out in the[A] spike you'll[D] find them
They[A] sweeted blood and they[D] washed[E] down [D]mud
With pints and[A] quarts of[D] beer
And[A] now we're on the[D] road again
With Mc[A]Alpines[E] Fusi[A]lers
I stripped to the skin with the darkie Finn
Way down upon the Isle Of Grain
With horse face Toole we knew the rule
No money if you stop for rain
McAlpines God was a well filled hod
Your shoulders cut to bits and seared
And woe to he went to look for tea
With McAlpines Fusilers
I remember the day when the Bear O' Shea
Fell into a concrete stairs
What horse face said when he saw him dead
It wasn't what the rich called prayers
I'm a navvy short was the one retort
That reached onto my ears
When the going gets rough then you must be tough
With McAlpines Fusilers
I've worked till the sweat nearly had me bet
With Russian Czech and Pole
On shuddering jams up in the hydro dams
Or underneath the Thames in a hole
I grafted hard and I got me cards
And many a gangers fist across me ears
If you pride your life dont join by cripes
With McAlpines Fusilers
With their[A] shovels[E] slung be[A]hind them
'Twas[A] in a pub that they[D] drank[E] their[D] sub
And out in the[A] spike you'll[D] find them
They[A] sweeted blood and they[D] washed[E] down [D]mud
With pints and[A] quarts of[D] beer
And[A] now we're on the[D] road again
With Mc[A]Alpines[E] Fusi[A]lers
I stripped to the skin with the darkie Finn
Way down upon the Isle Of Grain
With horse face Toole we knew the rule
No money if you stop for rain
McAlpines God was a well filled hod
Your shoulders cut to bits and seared
And woe to he went to look for tea
With McAlpines Fusilers
I remember the day when the Bear O' Shea
Fell into a concrete stairs
What horse face said when he saw him dead
It wasn't what the rich called prayers
I'm a navvy short was the one retort
That reached onto my ears
When the going gets rough then you must be tough
With McAlpines Fusilers
I've worked till the sweat nearly had me bet
With Russian Czech and Pole
On shuddering jams up in the hydro dams
Or underneath the Thames in a hole
I grafted hard and I got me cards
And many a gangers fist across me ears
If you pride your life dont join by cripes
With McAlpines Fusilers
Ronnie Drew played this song in the key of A
Here's the guitar chords in the Key of G Major
As[G] down the glen came Mc[C]Alpines men
With their[G] shovels[D] slung be[G]hind them
'Twas[G] in a pub that they[C] drank[D] their[C] sub
And out in the[G] spike you'll[C] find them
They[G] sweeted blood and they[C] washed[D] down [C]mud
With pints and[G] quarts of[C] beer
And[G] now we're on the[C] road again
With Mc[G]Alpines[D] Fusi[G]lers
And here's the chords for the key of D
As[D] down the glen came Mc[G]Alpines men
With their[D] shovels[A] slung be[D]hind them
'Twas[D] in a pub that they[G] drank[A] their[G] sub
And out in the[D] spike you'll[G] find them
They[D] sweeted blood and they[G] washed[A] down [G]mud
With pints and[D] quarts of[G] beer
And[D] now we're on the[G] road again
With Mc[D]Alpines[A] Fusi[D]lers
Here's the guitar chords in the Key of G Major
As[G] down the glen came Mc[C]Alpines men
With their[G] shovels[D] slung be[G]hind them
'Twas[G] in a pub that they[C] drank[D] their[C] sub
And out in the[G] spike you'll[C] find them
They[G] sweeted blood and they[C] washed[D] down [C]mud
With pints and[G] quarts of[C] beer
And[G] now we're on the[C] road again
With Mc[G]Alpines[D] Fusi[G]lers
And here's the chords for the key of D
As[D] down the glen came Mc[G]Alpines men
With their[D] shovels[A] slung be[D]hind them
'Twas[D] in a pub that they[G] drank[A] their[G] sub
And out in the[D] spike you'll[G] find them
They[D] sweeted blood and they[G] washed[A] down [G]mud
With pints and[D] quarts of[G] beer
And[D] now we're on the[G] road again
With Mc[D]Alpines[A] Fusi[D]lers
The Dubliners Sheet Music / Tin Whistle Notes Ebook
Below is the list of sheet music and tin whistle songs that are in my ebooks. This is the largest collection of tin whistle songs ever put together.[over 800 songs ] Including folk, pop and trad tunes plus German And French songs along with Christmas Carols.
All of the sheet music tabs have been made as easy to play as was possible.
The price of the ebooks is €7.50
All of the sheet music tabs have been made as easy to play as was possible.
The price of the ebooks is €7.50
About the song.
this song is pure navvy folklore dipped in black humour and cement, sung by an Irish labourer who’s seen more mud, sweat and misery than a pig at ploughing time. It’s a working man’s war-anthem — not with rifles and flags, but with shovels and broken backs.
The lads in the song are McAlpine’s men — a travelling tribe of Irish construction warriors — striding down the glen with shovels on their shoulders like soldiers with rifles. God help you if you mistake them for weaklings — these boys could dig through granite with a dirty look.
They work so hard they sweat blood, and the only thing that washes the misery down is pints and quarts of beer — enough to drown a horse and soften the memory of unpaid wages. And when they’re not drinking their meagre “sub” (the advance payment), you’ll find them “in the spike” — the flophouse for broke labourers, smelling of defeat and Guinness fumes.
Then we get the rogues’ gallery:
- Darkie Finn, stripped to the skin — tougher than boot leather.
- Horse-face Toole, with a face like a last week’s cabbage.
No money if you stop for rain.
In Ireland, that means no money ever.
Their god?
Not a saint.
Not a saviour.
Not a priest.
A well-filled hod.
A bucket of bricks.
A communion of concrete.
And if you dared look for tea — ah, you’d be better looking for salvation.
Then comes the tragicomic star moment — the Bear O’Shea falls into a concrete staircase and dies on the job. And horse-face, with all the delicacy of a bull in a chapel, says:
“I’m a navvy short.”
Not a prayer.
Not a tear.
Just a staffing update.
That, my friend, is Irish humour so dark it’s practically illegal.
Then we hear of the singer working alongside every nationality available — Russian, Czech, Pole — all equal when covered in mud and cursed by gangers.
He worked on dams that shook like sinners at confession, and beneath the Thames in tunnels that felt like graves.
He earned bruises, scars, and his employment cards — the sacred ticket that sends a labourer packing the moment he asks for human treatment.
And the final warning is delivered like a punchline and a prophecy:
“If you pride your life — don’t join, by cripes, with McAlpine’s Fusiliers.”
It’s a song that mixes:
- sweat and satire
- pride and punishment
- camaraderie and cursing
- tragedy and deadpan wit
the Irish working man — laughing through the pain, singing through the struggle, and forever building a country that never bothered to thank him.
As we might say back home:
They were hard men doing hard work in a hard world — and still found time for a pint and a joke.
