Building Up And Tearing England Down.

Building Up and Tearing England Down.

Lyrics: Dublin born Irish writer, songwriter and singer the late Dominic Behan (1928–1989) [brother of Irish poet, short story writer, novelist and playwright, Brendan Behan]
Vocals: Irish folk band ‘The Dubliners’ and Ronnie Drew.

Building Up and Tearing England Down.

I’ve won a hero’s name with McAlpine and Costain,
With Fitz Patrick, Murphy Ash and the Wimpey’s gangs.
I’ve been often on the road on me way to draw the dole,
When there’s nothing left to do for Johnny Laing.
And I used to think that God made the mixer, pick and hod,
So that Paddy might no hell above the ground.
I’ve had ganger’s big and tough,
Tell me tear it all out rough,
When you’re building up and tearing England down.

In a tunnel under ground, a young Limerick man was found,
He was built into the new Victoria line.
When the bonus gang had passed, sticking from a concrete cast,
Was the face of little Charlie Joe Devine,
And the ganger man McGurk said “big Paddy hates to work”,
When the gas main blew and he flew off the ground.
Oh they swore he said “Don’t slack!
I’ll not be there until I’m back,
Keep on building up and tearing England down!”

I was on the shuttering dam on the day that Jack McCann,
Got the better of his stammer in a week.
He fell from the shuttering dam,
And that poor auld stuttering man,
He was never ever more inclined to speak.
And I saw auld Bald McCall, from the big flyover, fall,
Into a concrete mixer spinning round.
Though it wasn’t his intent he got a fine head of cement,
When he was building up and tearing England down.

I remember ‘Carrier Jack’ with his hod upon his back,
How he swore one day he’d set the world on fire.
But his face they’ve never seen,
Since his shovel it cut clean,
Through the middle of the big high tension wire.
Oh no more like Robin Hood when he roam through Cricklewood,
Or danced around the pubs in Camden Town.
Oh, but let no man complain, sure no Pat can die in vain,
When he’s building up and tearing England down.

So come all you navvies bold,
Do not think that English gold,
Is just waiting to be taken from each sod.
Or the likes of you and me will ever get an O.B.E.,
Or a Knighthood for good service to the hod.
There’s a concrete master race for to keep you in your place,
And a ganger man to kick you to the ground,
If you ever try to take part of what the bosses make,
When you’re building up and tearing England down.

END