London Calling...

Am off on a jolly to the capital for a few days later...thought we may as well have a London playlist...see y'all Thursday (maybe).












woop

considered that one moss

SamiPremier08 wrote:considered that one moss

Funny cos its true Sami. I should know, I lived there for 4 years.

Great thread though, here's a couple more, FSOL before your time I'd say, Emerson and Roots are old friends of mine.

Was looking for the official video for this but it's been taken down for some reason and i ended up with this weird looking thing, anyway, this is by Western Aussie band Eskimo Joe Enjoy.......

OMAR wrote:

Great shout, that one's not playing for me so I've stuck up another version here



'Twas in the year of 'thirty-nine,the sky was full of lead
Hitler was heading for Poland and Paddy, for Holyhead.
Come all you pincher laddies and you long-distance men
Don't ever work for McAlpine for Wimpey, or John Laing
For you'll stand behind a mixer until your skin is turned to tan
And they'll say, Good on you, Paddy with your boat-fare in your hand.


Oh, the craic was good in Cricklewood and they wouldn't leave the Crown
With glasses flying and Biddys crying 'sure Paddy was going to town.
Oh mother dear, I'm over here and I'm never coming back
What keeps me here is the rake o' beer the ladies and the craic.
I come from county Kerry the land of eggs and bacon
And if you think I'll eat your fish 'n' chips be Jasus your mistaken.


As down the Glen came Mcalpine's men with their shovels slung behind
them.
It was in the pub that they drank their sub or down in the spike you'll
find them.
They sweated blood and they washed down mud with pints and quarts of
beer.
But now we're on the road again with McAlpines Fusiliers.

I stripped to the skin with Darky Finn down upon the Isle of Grain,
With Horseface Toole I learned the rule, no money if you stop for rain.
For McAlpine's god is a well filled hod with your shoulders cut to bits
and seared
And woe to he who looks for tea with McAlpines Fusiliers.

I remember the day that the Bear O'Shea fell into a concrete stair,
What Horseface said, when he saw him dead, well it wasn't what the rich
call prayers.
"I'm a navvy short," was his one retort that reached unto my ears, When
the going is rough, well you must be tough, with McAlpine's Fusiliers.

I've worked till the sweat that has had me beat with Russian, Czech and
Pole,
At shuttering jams up in the Hydro Dams, or underneath the Thames in a
hole,
I grafted hard and I 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.