Mcalpines Fusiliers Chords by Pecker Dunne
Tempo:
121.2 bpm
Chords used:
Bb
Eb
Gm
F
G
Tuning:Standard Tuning (EADGBE)Capo:+0fret
Start Jamming...
It was in the year of 39, the sky was full of lead.
The Germans were heading for Poland, and the Paddy's for Holyhead.
Out of concrete it was cracking, and the mud was falling in.
MacAlpine searched Manchester, till he found a darky fin.
Out of Camal, you pinch your kiddies, and all long-distance men.
Don't ever work for Wimpy, MacAlpine or John Lang, for they'll throw you behind the big
mixer, and your skin it turns to tan, and they'll say go down your Paddy, which you
both feel in your hand.
The crack was good in Cricklewood, and we refused to leave the Crown.
There were glasses flying and biddies crying, and the Paddy's were going to town.
I'm over there, I'm over here, and I'm never going back.
What keeps me here is the rake of beer, the ladies and the crack.
[Bb] Down the glen [Eb] came MacAlpine's men, [Bb] with their shovels long behind them.
It was in the pub [Eb] that they drank their sub, [Gm] and it's up in County Holmes you'll find them.
[Bb] They're sweaty blood, [Eb] and they'll wash down mud, [Gm] with pints and quarts of beer.
[Bb] And now we're broke and [Eb] we're on the road, [Bb] with [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs.
Stripped to the skin [Eb] with darky feet, [Bb] way down upon the Isle of Grain.
Oh, we're so full, [Eb] so we knew the rule, no money if we stop [Gm] for rain.
For [Bb] MacAlpine's God [Eb] was a well-filled hog, with our shoulders crossed of bits and [G] seed.
[Bb]
And mulch he who [Eb] would look for tea, with [Bb] MacAlpine's usual airs.
I remember the day [Eb] that the beer o'ershed, [Bb] he fell into [F] a concrete [Bb] stair.
What the gang of men said, [Eb] when he found him dead, it wasn't but a priest's [Gm] prayers.
[Bb] I'm a lovely shart, [Eb] was his one retort, it passed on [Gm] to me years.
[Bb] When the going was rough, [Eb] oh, you must be tough, [Bb] with [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs.
I have walked till the sweat, [Eb] oh, what near had me fit, [Bb] with the Russian tick and toll.
Shoveling sand [Eb] up in the hydro dam, or underneath the [Gm] flames in a hole.
[Bb] I've got off the hard, [Eb] and I've got me cards, and a money-a-ganger's fist [Gm] across me hair.
Have your [Bb] pride in your life, [Eb] don't shine by Christ, [Bb] with MacAlpine's usual airs.
Have your money, your wife, [Eb] don't shine by Christ, [Bb] with [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs.
The Germans were heading for Poland, and the Paddy's for Holyhead.
Out of concrete it was cracking, and the mud was falling in.
MacAlpine searched Manchester, till he found a darky fin.
Out of Camal, you pinch your kiddies, and all long-distance men.
Don't ever work for Wimpy, MacAlpine or John Lang, for they'll throw you behind the big
mixer, and your skin it turns to tan, and they'll say go down your Paddy, which you
both feel in your hand.
The crack was good in Cricklewood, and we refused to leave the Crown.
There were glasses flying and biddies crying, and the Paddy's were going to town.
I'm over there, I'm over here, and I'm never going back.
What keeps me here is the rake of beer, the ladies and the crack.
[Bb] Down the glen [Eb] came MacAlpine's men, [Bb] with their shovels long behind them.
It was in the pub [Eb] that they drank their sub, [Gm] and it's up in County Holmes you'll find them.
[Bb] They're sweaty blood, [Eb] and they'll wash down mud, [Gm] with pints and quarts of beer.
[Bb] And now we're broke and [Eb] we're on the road, [Bb] with [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs.
Stripped to the skin [Eb] with darky feet, [Bb] way down upon the Isle of Grain.
Oh, we're so full, [Eb] so we knew the rule, no money if we stop [Gm] for rain.
For [Bb] MacAlpine's God [Eb] was a well-filled hog, with our shoulders crossed of bits and [G] seed.
[Bb]
And mulch he who [Eb] would look for tea, with [Bb] MacAlpine's usual airs.
I remember the day [Eb] that the beer o'ershed, [Bb] he fell into [F] a concrete [Bb] stair.
What the gang of men said, [Eb] when he found him dead, it wasn't but a priest's [Gm] prayers.
[Bb] I'm a lovely shart, [Eb] was his one retort, it passed on [Gm] to me years.
[Bb] When the going was rough, [Eb] oh, you must be tough, [Bb] with [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs.
I have walked till the sweat, [Eb] oh, what near had me fit, [Bb] with the Russian tick and toll.
Shoveling sand [Eb] up in the hydro dam, or underneath the [Gm] flames in a hole.
[Bb] I've got off the hard, [Eb] and I've got me cards, and a money-a-ganger's fist [Gm] across me hair.
Have your [Bb] pride in your life, [Eb] don't shine by Christ, [Bb] with MacAlpine's usual airs.
Have your money, your wife, [Eb] don't shine by Christ, [Bb] with [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs.
Key:
Bb
Eb
Gm
F
G
Bb
Eb
Gm
It was in the year of 39, the sky was full of lead.
The Germans were heading for Poland, and the Paddy's for Holyhead.
Out of concrete it was cracking, and the mud was falling in. _
MacAlpine searched Manchester, till he found a darky fin.
Out of Camal, you pinch your kiddies, and all long-distance men.
Don't ever work for Wimpy, _ MacAlpine or John Lang, for they'll throw you behind the big
mixer, and your skin it turns to tan, and they'll say go down your Paddy, which you
both feel in your hand.
_ The crack was good in Cricklewood, and we refused to leave the Crown.
There were glasses flying and biddies crying, and the Paddy's were going to town.
_ I'm over there, I'm over here, and I'm never going back.
What keeps me here is the rake of beer, the ladies and the crack. _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
[Bb] _ _ _ _ _ Down the glen [Eb] came MacAlpine's men, [Bb] with their _ shovels long behind them.
It was in the pub [Eb] that they drank their sub, [Gm] and it's up in County Holmes you'll find them.
[Bb] They're sweaty blood, [Eb] and they'll wash down mud, [Gm] with pints and quarts of beer.
_ [Bb] And now we're broke and [Eb] we're on the road, [Bb] with [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs. _
Stripped to the skin [Eb] with darky feet, [Bb] way down upon the Isle of Grain.
_ Oh, we're so full, [Eb] so we knew the rule, no money if we stop [Gm] for rain.
_ For [Bb] MacAlpine's God [Eb] was a well-filled hog, with our shoulders crossed of bits and [G] _ seed.
[Bb]
And mulch he who [Eb] would look for tea, with [Bb] _ MacAlpine's usual airs.
I remember the day [Eb] that the beer o'ershed, [Bb] he fell into [F] a concrete [Bb] stair. _
What the gang of men said, [Eb] when he found him dead, it wasn't but a priest's [Gm] _ prayers.
[Bb] I'm a lovely shart, [Eb] was his one retort, it passed on [Gm] to me years.
[Bb] When the going was rough, [Eb] oh, you must be tough, [Bb] with _ [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs.
I have walked till the sweat, [Eb] oh, what near had me fit, [Bb] with the Russian tick and toll. _
_ Shoveling sand [Eb] up in the hydro dam, or underneath the [Gm] flames in a hole.
[Bb] I've got off the hard, [Eb] and I've got me cards, and a money-a-ganger's fist [Gm] across me hair.
Have your [Bb] pride in your life, [Eb] don't shine by Christ, [Bb] with _ MacAlpine's usual _ airs.
Have your money, your wife, [Eb] don't shine by Christ, [Bb] with _ [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs. _
The Germans were heading for Poland, and the Paddy's for Holyhead.
Out of concrete it was cracking, and the mud was falling in. _
MacAlpine searched Manchester, till he found a darky fin.
Out of Camal, you pinch your kiddies, and all long-distance men.
Don't ever work for Wimpy, _ MacAlpine or John Lang, for they'll throw you behind the big
mixer, and your skin it turns to tan, and they'll say go down your Paddy, which you
both feel in your hand.
_ The crack was good in Cricklewood, and we refused to leave the Crown.
There were glasses flying and biddies crying, and the Paddy's were going to town.
_ I'm over there, I'm over here, and I'm never going back.
What keeps me here is the rake of beer, the ladies and the crack. _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
[Bb] _ _ _ _ _ Down the glen [Eb] came MacAlpine's men, [Bb] with their _ shovels long behind them.
It was in the pub [Eb] that they drank their sub, [Gm] and it's up in County Holmes you'll find them.
[Bb] They're sweaty blood, [Eb] and they'll wash down mud, [Gm] with pints and quarts of beer.
_ [Bb] And now we're broke and [Eb] we're on the road, [Bb] with [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs. _
Stripped to the skin [Eb] with darky feet, [Bb] way down upon the Isle of Grain.
_ Oh, we're so full, [Eb] so we knew the rule, no money if we stop [Gm] for rain.
_ For [Bb] MacAlpine's God [Eb] was a well-filled hog, with our shoulders crossed of bits and [G] _ seed.
[Bb]
And mulch he who [Eb] would look for tea, with [Bb] _ MacAlpine's usual airs.
I remember the day [Eb] that the beer o'ershed, [Bb] he fell into [F] a concrete [Bb] stair. _
What the gang of men said, [Eb] when he found him dead, it wasn't but a priest's [Gm] _ prayers.
[Bb] I'm a lovely shart, [Eb] was his one retort, it passed on [Gm] to me years.
[Bb] When the going was rough, [Eb] oh, you must be tough, [Bb] with _ [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs.
I have walked till the sweat, [Eb] oh, what near had me fit, [Bb] with the Russian tick and toll. _
_ Shoveling sand [Eb] up in the hydro dam, or underneath the [Gm] flames in a hole.
[Bb] I've got off the hard, [Eb] and I've got me cards, and a money-a-ganger's fist [Gm] across me hair.
Have your [Bb] pride in your life, [Eb] don't shine by Christ, [Bb] with _ MacAlpine's usual _ airs.
Have your money, your wife, [Eb] don't shine by Christ, [Bb] with _ [F] MacAlpine's [Bb] usual airs. _
Facts about this song