Tunie: And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda

About

I used to sing this as a lullaby to my spawn—till said spawn grew big enough to understand the words, and asked me to sing something else.

Written by Eric Bogle, c. 1971.

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, my country said "Son,
It's time to stop rambling, 'cause there's work to be done."
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 as we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day
How the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He showered us with bullets, he rained us with shells
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 as we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs, then we started all over again

Now those that were left, well we tried to survive
In a mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
While around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying

For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs—
No more waltzing Matilda for me.

So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia.
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane—
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where my legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody 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
Then they turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch, and I watch the parade pass before me
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march, reliving old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question.

And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men still answer the call
But year after year, their numbers get fewer—
Someday no one will march there at all.

Waltzing matilda, Waltzing natilda
Who'll come a-waltzing matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass by the billabong
Who'll come a-waltzing matilda with me?