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"A room on the top floor And the chest all but knackered Two fingers not working And the back's shot to hell It's a lifetime of digging trenches In the cold and wet weather And for laying half the roadway In England as well You'd finish in the one place It was straight to the next one And you never could settle And you were always alone Just a drifter in limbo I was best off away, son Just one of the thousands Who could never go home That's your mighty man, son Your mighty man Well, the boat and the train ride In a misty November We had the worst of the lodgings And we hated the subs Ma's face on the leaving I will always remember And we wouldn't get paid Until they had closed up their pubs And I could stand up on horseback Was the man for the singing Put my hand up for boxing At the fairground on the heath I could play my accordion And charm all of the women And dance round the taproom With a chair in my teeth That's your mighty man, son Your mighty man That's your mighty man, son Your mighty man "