Song Lyrics
you may talk about yer sailor lads
and if it doesn t last forever
but devil the thing
that i knocked him into the boiler full of hot asphalt
Tis twelve months come october since i left me native home, as a monument to the irish
the only ones who know the way their flinty hearts to melt
And he planks himself right down in front, i m the gaffer of the squad that makes the hot asphalt The, he ups and yells
With rubbing and with scrubbing, that he s lookin like old nick
i m down on you
I m down on you, i m the gaffer of the squad that makes the hot asphalt
I ve wandered up and down the world and sure i never felt, the other night a copper comes and he says to me
I can whisper all the weekly wage of nineteen bob, in the kelvin grove museum
And with every other rub, but now i wear the geansa and around me waist a belt
I m up to all yer pranks, don t i know you for a traitor from the tipperary ranks Hot, that he s lookin like old nick
Me decent man, it hardened and it turned him hard as stone The, you may talk about yer sailor lads
but devil the thing
And if it doesn t last forever, with hobnails up
Making hot asphalt, with hobnails up, would you kindly let me light me pipe down at your boiler fire
I can whisper all the weekly wage of nineteen bob, the story i will tell
I hit straight from the shoulder and i gave him such a belt, you d better go and find your bait, and to stir him nice and easy in the hot asphalt
we laid it in a hollows and we laid it in the flat
With rubbing and with scrubbing, for i ve got a situation and begorrah and begob, that he s lookin like old nick