Paddy On The Road Lyrics And Chords

Or sometimes called Building Up And Tearing England Down. For Christy Moore, written by singer songwriter Dominic Behan. from the album of the same name. ''Paddy On The Road'' Chord corrections by Geoff Bing. This is another of the songs on site with the name ''Paddy In Title'' , a rake more are here including a recent addition Paddy By Gerry Carney which became very popular with other singers. And another even more famous is Paddy's Green Shamrock Shore [ song words and chords ]. Although Paddy's Green Shamrock Shore would be known as a Paul Brady song and he's being singing it for decades, it was only recently recorded by The High Kings and already the youtube stats show it has gained 865,000 views compared to Paul's stats of less than half a million.Paddy On The Road was the title of Christy's. The song was first  recorded in London in 1968. Christy Moore's [ songs ] big ambition was to simply record an album and get the work down on vinyl. With three years under his belt he thought he would attract higher fees and raise his profile. He felt he could go from eight pounds a night to 20 pounds a night. The fact of having an album was much more important than what was on it. The song was also recorded by The Dubliners. The sheet music notes are included. This old song was recently recorded by Dundalk based ballad group The Mary Wallopers who used the title ''Building Up And Tearing Eangland Down..

About The Song
Ah now, this song is pure Irish navvy folklore — half tragedy, half dark humour, and held together with cement dust and sarcasm. It’s the unofficial national anthem of Irish labourers abroad — the men who swapped fields for jackhammers and holy Ireland for rainy England.
It’s told by a proud Irish working man who’s spent half his life building Britain while being treated like a disposable shovel. He’s worked with every outfit from McAlpine to Wimpey’s, and he’s been on the dole more often than a jockey on payday — sure there’s always work promised, but rarely work paid.
He figures God invented mixers and hods not for construction, but to make sure Paddy would experience hell without waiting for the afterlife. And he’s been ordered around by gangers rougher than a Cork scrum-half, always with the same battle cry:
“Tear it out, Paddy!”
Then come the tales — gruesome, mad, and told with the kind of deadpan humour you only find in Irish wakes:

• A Limerick lad built accidentally into the Victoria line — permanently memorialised by sticking out of the cement like a macabre garden ornament.
• Big Paddy McGurk getting blasted skyward by a gas main like a human rocket — and still thinking about work:
  “Don’t slack lads, I’ll be back!”
  (A statement both optimistic and anatomically unlikely.)
• Carrier Jack dreaming of setting the world on fire — and the poor gobshite manages it by slicing clean through a high-tension wire.
• Bald McGann falling into a mixer and ending up with a cement hairstyle so solid you could build a pier off it.
• And Pat McCann, who finally cured his stammer by taking one grand final fall — and after that didn’t speak again… or couldn’t.

Through all these darkly comic tragedies, the message is clear:
Paddy breaks his back to build England, while England breaks Paddy.
The last verse is the warning — spoken like the wise old lad in the corner of the pub:
“If you think English gold is waiting for you — you’re thicker than fresh tar.”
There’ll be no OBE for the Irish navvy, no knighthood for hod-carrying heroics. The bosses keep the gold, the gangers keep the whip, and Paddy keeps the scars.
In the end, it’s a song full of bitter humour, righteous anger, and grim pride — the kind of tune that makes you laugh, wince, and raise a glass to every Irishman who left home to build a country that never thanked him.
As we’d say in Ireland:
“Sure they built half of bloody England — and buried half of Ireland in the process.”

[C]I've won a hero's name with Mc [F] Alpine and Costain 
With Fitz[C]patrick, Murphy,[F] Ashe and [G]Wimpey's [C]gang 
I've[C] been often on the road on my [F] way to draw the dole 
When there's[C] nothing left to[F] do for [G]Sir John [C]Laing 
I [Am]used to think that God made the[F] mixer pick and [Em]hod 
So that[Am] Paddy might know [G]hell above the [F]ground I've had 
[C]gangers big and tough tell me [F] tear it all out rough 
When you're [C]building up and [F]tearing [G]England [C]down 
 
In a tunnel underground a young Limerick man was found
He was built into the new Victoria Line
When the pouring gang had past sticking through the concrete cast
Was the face of little Charlie Joe Devine
And the ganger man McGurk big Paddy ate the work
When the gas main burst and he flew off the ground
Oh they swear he said "Don't slack, I'll not be here until I'm back"
Keep on building up and tearing England down
 
 
I remember Carrier Jack with his hod upon his back
How he swore he'd one day set the world on fire
But his face they've never seen since his shovel it cut clean
Through the middle of a big high tension wire 
I saw auld Bald McGann from the big flyover fall
Into a concrete mixer spinning round
Although his life was spent he got a fine head of cement
As he was building up and tearing England down
 
 
I was on the hydro dam the day that Pat McCann
Got the better of his stammer in a week
He fell from the shuttering jam and that poor auld stuttering man
He was never ever more inclined to speak
No more like Robin Hood will he roam through Cricklewood [ song ]
Or dance around the pubs of Camden Town
But let no man complain Paddy does not die in vain
When he's building up and tearing England down
 
 
So come all you navvies bold who think that English gold
Is just waiting to be taken from each sod
Or that the likes of you and me could ever get an OBE
Or an knighthood for good service to the hod
They've the concrete master race to keep you in your place
The ganger man to kick you to the ground
If you ever try to take part of what the bosses make
When they're building up and tearing England down 

Guitar chords to all verses.
[C]I've won a hero's name with Mc [F] Alpine and Costain
With Fitz[C]patrick, Murphy,[F] Ashe and [G]Wimpey's [C]gang
I've[C] been often on the road on my [F] way to draw the dole
When there's[C] nothing left to[F] do for [G]Sir John [C]Laing
I [Am]used to think that God made the[F] mixer pick and [Em]hod
So that[Am] Paddy might know [G]hell above the [F]ground I've had
[C]gangers big and tough tell me [F] tear it all out rough
When you're [C]building up and [F]tearing [G]England [C]down

[C]In a tunnel underground a young [F] Limerick man was found
He was [C]built into the [F]new Vic[G]toria [C]Line
When the [C]pouring gang had past sticking [F] through the concrete cast
Was the [C]face of little [F]Charlie [G]Joe De[C]vine
And the [Am]ganger man McGurk big [F]Paddy ate the [Em]work
When the [Am]gas main burst and [G]he flew off the [F]ground
Oh they [C]swear he said "Don't slack, I'll [F] not be here until I'm back"
Keep on [C]building up and [F]tearing [G]England [C]down

[C]I remember Carrier Jack with his [F] hod upon his back
How he [C]swore he'd one day [F]set the [G]world on [C]fire
But his [C]face they've never seen since his [F] shovel it cut clean
Through the [C]middle of a [F]big high [G]tension [C]wire
I saw [Am]auld Bald McGann from the [F]big flyover [Em]fall
Into a [Am]concrete mixer [G]spinning [F]round
Although his [C]life was spent he got a [F] fine head of cement
As he was [C]building up and [F]tearing [G]England [C]down

[C]I was on the hydro dam the [F] day that Pat McCann
Got the [C]better of his [F]stammer [G]in a [C]week
He [C]fell from the shuttering jam and [F] that poor auld stuttering man
He was [C]never ever [F]more in[G]clined to [C]speak
No [Am]more like Robin Hood will he [F]roam through Crickle[Em]wood
Or [Am]dance around the [G]pubs of Camden [F]Town
But [C]let no man complain Paddy [F] does not die in vain
When he's [C]building up and [F]tearing [G]England [C]down

[C]So come all you navvies bold who [F] think that English gold
Is just [C]waiting to be [F]taken [G]from each [C]sod
Or that the [C]likes of you and me could [F] ever get an OBE
Or an [C]knighthood for good [F]service [G]to the [C]hod
They've the [Am]concrete master race to [F]keep you in your [Em]place
The [Am]ganger man to [G]kick you to the [F]ground
If you [C]ever try to take part of [F] what the bosses make
When they're [C]building up and [F]tearing [G]England [C]down

Building up and tearing England down sheet music

Here's the chords for the key of G.
[G]I've won a hero's name with Mc [C] Alpine and Costain
With Fitz[G]patrick, Murphy,[C] Ashe and [D]Wimpey's [G]gang
I've[G] been often on the road on my [C] way to draw the dole
When there's[G] nothing left to[C] do for [D]Sir John [G]Laing
I [Em]used to think that God made the[C] mixer pick and [Bm]hod
So that[Em] Paddy might know [D]hell above the [C]ground I've had
[G]gangers big and tough tell me [C] tear it all out rough
When you're [G]building up and [C]tearing [D]England [G]down

[G]In a tunnel underground a young [C] Limerick man was found
He was [G]built into the [C]new Vic[D]toria [G]Line
When the [G]pouring gang had past sticking [C] through the concrete cast
Was the [G]face of little [C]Charlie [D]Joe De[G]vine
And the [Em]ganger man McGurk big [C]Paddy ate the [Bm]work
When the [Em]gas main burst and [D]he flew off the [C]ground
Oh they [G]swear he said "Don't slack, I'll [C] not be here until I'm back"
Keep on [G]building up and [C]tearing [D]England [G]down

[G]I remember Carrier Jack with his [C] hod upon his back
How he [G]swore he'd one day [C]set the [D]world on [G]fire
But his [G]face they've never seen since his [C] shovel it cut clean
Through the [G]middle of a [C]big high [D]tension [G]wire
I saw [Em]auld Bald McGann from the [C]big flyover [Bm]fall
Into a [Em]concrete mixer [D]spinning [C]round
Although his [G]life was spent he got a [C] fine head of cement
As he was [G]building up and [C]tearing [D]England [G]down

[G]I was on the hydro dam the [C] day that Pat McCann
Got the [G]better of his [C]stammer [D]in a [G]week
He [G]fell from the shuttering jam and [C] that poor auld stuttering man
He was [G]never ever [C]more in[D]clined to [G]speak
No [Em]more like Robin Hood will he [C]roam through Crickle[Bm]wood
Or [Em]dance around the [D]pubs of Camden [C]Town
But [G]let no man complain Paddy [C] does not die in vain
When he's [G]building up and [C]tearing [D]England [G]down

[G]So come all you navvies bold who [C] think that English gold
Is just [G]waiting to be [C]taken [D]from each [G]sod
Or that the [G]likes of you and me could [C] ever get an OBE
Or an [G]knighthood for good [C]service [D]to the [G]hod
They've the [Em]concrete master race to [C]keep you in your [Bm]place
The [Em]ganger man to [D]kick you to the [C]ground
If you [G]ever try to take part of [C] what the bosses make
When they're [G]building up and [C]tearing [D]England [G]down

Paddy on the road singer Christy Moore

Ballad Of Dominic Behan Song Lyrics
(Verse 1)
From Dublin town, where the Liffey flows,
A storyteller's voice, like a wind that blows.
Not with a harp or a fiddle's sweet strain,
But with a pen and a tongue for the joy and the pain.
Dominic Behan, a name to be known,
A brother to Brendan, on a literary throne.
But his was a story, sung not just told,
Of a city's heart, both bitter and bold.


(Chorus)
Oh, Dominic Behan, with a song and a word,
Every tale of the old town he heard.
He sang of the working man's toil and his grace,
And the history carved on a Dubliner's face.
From the barracks of Britain to the street corner stand,
He held a mirror to the soul of the land.


(Verse 2)
He wrote of the Easter Rising, the hunger, the plight,
Of men in the '20s, who fought for the right.
He gave us "The Patriot Game" with its sorrowful sound,
A lament for the fallen on Irish ground.
He knew the back alleys, the struggle, the fear,
And painted a picture for all eyes to hear.
He'd laugh in the darkness, and cry in the light,
A true Dublin poet, with all of his might.


(Chorus)
Oh, Dominic Behan, with a song and a word,
Every tale of the old town he heard.
He sang of the working man's toil and his grace,
And the history carved on a Dubliner's face.
From the barracks of Britain to the street corner stand,
He held a mirror to the soul of the land.


(Verse 3)
So raise up a glass to the man and his art,
Who captured the rhythm of a city's heart.
For the songs of old Dominic, they still live on,
In the pubs and the parlors, from dusk until dawn.
He showed us the beauty and the truth of it all,
And answered the call with his voice, standing tall.