Waltzing Matilda

When I was a young man I carried my pack And I lived the free life of a rover. From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback I waltzed my Matilda all over. Then in 1915 me country said, “Son It's time to stop rambling ‘cause there’s work to be done.â€� So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun And they sent me away to the war. And the band played "Waltzing Matilda" When we sailed away from the quay, And amidst all the tears and the shouts and cheers We sailed off for Gallipoli. And how well I remember that terrible day When our blood stained the sand and the water And how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter. Johnny Turk, he was ready, he'd primed himself well. He shot us with bullets, and he rained us with shells, And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell, Nearly blew us right back to Australia. And the band played “Waltzing Matildaâ€� As we stopped to bury our slain. And we buried ours and the Turks buried theirs. Then it started all over again. Now, those who were living did their best to survive In that mad world of guts, blood and fire, And for seven long weeks I kept myself alive While the corpses around me piled higher. Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse-over-head And when I awoke in me hospital bed And saw what it had done, Christ! I wished I was dead. Never knew there was worse things than dying. And no more I'll go waltzing Matilda Through the green bushes so far and near, For to hang tents and pegs a man needs two legs. No more waltzing Matilda for me. (Instrumental break: verse) So they collected the the crippled, the wounded and maimed And they shipped us back home to Australia, The the legless, the armless, the blind and insaneâ€� Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla. And when the ship pulled into Circular Quay I looked at the place where me legs used to be And thanked Christ there was no one there waiting for me To grieve and to mourn and to pity. And the band played "Waltzing Matilda" As they carried us down the gangway, But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared And they turned all their faces away. And now every April I sit on my porch And I watch the parade pass before me. I see my old comrades, how proudly they march, Reliving the dreams of past glory. I see the old men all twisted and torn, The forgotten heroes of a forgotten war, And the young people ask me, "What are they marching for?" And I ask myself the same question. And the band plays “Waltzing Matilda,â€� And the old men still answer the call, But year after year their numbers are fewer. Someday no one will march there at all. Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, Who'll go a-waltzing Matilda with me? And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the Billabong: "Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?