Oh the crack was good in Cricklewood,
They couldn't get them out of The Crown.
With the bottles flyin' and the biddies cryin'
Sure'n Paddies goin' to town.

As down the glen came McAlpines men,
With their shovels slung behind them
Twas in that pub that they drank their sub
And up in the spike you'll find them.
They've sweated blood, and they've washed down mud.
With pints and quarts of beer.
And now we're on the road again,
With McAlpine's fusiliers.

Memories of Murphy.

Giok