Now when I was a young man, I carried me pack, And I lived the free life of the rover.
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback, Well I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915, my country said, son, It's time you stop rambling, there's work to be done.
So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun, And they marched me away to the war.
And the band played waltzing Matilda, As the ship pulled away from the quay.
And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving and tears, We sailed off for Gallipoli.
And how well I remember that terrible day, How our blood stained the sand and the water.
And of how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay, We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turkey was whiting, he'd primed himself well, He showered us with bullets and he rained us with shell.
And in five minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell, Nearly blew us right back to Australia.
But the band played waltzing Matilda, When we stopped to bury our slain.
We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs, Then we started all over again.
And those that were left, well, we tried to survive, In that mad world of blood, death and fire.
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive, Though around me the corpses piled higher.
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me *** overhead, And when I woke up in me hospital bed,
And saw what it had done, well, I wished I was dead.
Never knew there was worse things than dying, For I'll go no more waltzing Matilda,
All around the green bush, far and free, To hump tents and pegs, a man needs both legs,
No more waltzing Matilda for me.
So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed, And they shipped us back home to Australia.
The legless, the armless, the blind, the insane, Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
And as our ship pulled into circular quay, I looked at the place where me legs used to be,
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me, To grieve, to mourn and to pity.
But the band played waltzing Matilda, As they carried us down the gangway,
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared, Then they turned all their faces away.
And so now, every April, I sit on me porch, And I watch the parade pass before me,
And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march, Reviving old dreams of past glories.
And the old men march slowly, all bones stiff and sore, They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war,
And the young people ask, what are they marching for?
And I ask meself the same question, But the band plays waltzing Matilda,
And the old men still answer the call, But as year follows year, more old men disappear,
Someday no one will march there at all.
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, Who'll come waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard, as they march by that billabong, Who'll come waltzing Matilda with me?