The Engineer
All along the new straight track we
Plough the old fields under
Seven good feet and a quarter inch
Broad rails to steal the thunder
100 picks in '36 sent navvies to meet their maker
As black Box Tunnel worms its way
Past the Company undertaker
Hard, cast in iron, that engineer:
God bless Isambard!
Piston-scraping, furnace-busting
(He) plays the winning card
Rain, Steam, Speed at Maidenhead -
Turner's vision wide
Over bridges, girders, hot-driven
Rivets safely guide
Passenger wagons from Paddington
To Bristol's briny blue
On to break the waves, with a thousand
Horses, turn the churning screw
Hard, cast in iron, that engineer:
God bless Isambard!
Piston-scraping, furnace-busting
(He) plays the winning card
But those bonnie lads from way 'oop
North, had to have the final laugh:
The ripe new age was the standard
Gauge, four foot, eight and a half
And rolling out across all Europe
Across the mad, bad Empire world
Came the age of steam and the engines
Roaring, bold brazen Jack unfurled
Arching palaces at Praed Street
Stand lofty and serene;
Home to their maker and his last two
Miles to sleepy Kensal Green
Hard, cast in iron, that engineer:
God bless Isambard!
Piston-scraping, furnace-busting
(He) plays the winning card
