John Williamson – And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda (Guitar)

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When I was a young man I carried a pack

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I lived the free life of the rover.

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From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback,

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I waltzed my Matilda all over.

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Then in 1915, my country said, "Son,

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there's no time for roamin', there's work to be done."

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And they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun,

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And they sent me away to the war.

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And the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"

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As the ship pulled away from the quay.

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And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving, and tears,

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We set off for Gallipoli.

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How well I remember that terrible day,

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When our blood stained the sand and the water;

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And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay

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We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.

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Johnny Turk, he was waitin', he primed himself well;

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He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shells –

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And in five minutes flat, well he blew us to hell,

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He nearly blew us right back to Australia.

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And the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"

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As we stopped to bury our slain.

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  We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs,

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Then we started all over again.

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So those who were left, just tried to survive

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In a mad world of blood, death and fire.

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And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive,

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As the corpses around me piled higher.

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Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head,

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 And when I awoke in my hospital bed

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I saw what it had done, and I wished I was dead –

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Then I knew there were worse things than dying.

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And I'll go no more "Waltzing Matilda,"

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All through the green bush far and free –

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Cause to hunt and tent peg, a man needs both legs,

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No more "Waltzing Matilda" for me.

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They collected the crippled, the wounded, the maimed,

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Shipped us all back to Australia.

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The legless, the armless, the blind and insane,

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The brave wounded heroes of Suvla.

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And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay,

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I looked at the place where my legs used to be,

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And I thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me,

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To mourn and to grieve and to pity.

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And the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"

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As they carried us down the gangway.

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Nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,

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Then turned all their faces away.

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And now every April, I sit on my porch

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As I watch the parade pass before me.

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I see my old comrades, how proudly they march,

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Reviving old dreams and past glories.

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But the old men march slowly, bones stiff and sore

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Tired old men from a tired old war.

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And the young people ask "What are they marching for?"

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And I ask myself the same question.

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And the band plays "Waltzing Matilda,"

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As the old men still answer the call.

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And year after year, more old men disappear

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Soon none of them will march there at all.