Now when I was a young man,nI carried me pack.nAnd I lived the free life of the rover.nFrom the Murray Spring basin,nTo the dusty Outback,nWell I waltzed my Matilda all over.nnThen in 1915,nMy country said son,nIt's time you stopped rambling,nThere's work to be done.nSo they gave me a tin hat,nAnd they gave me a gun,nAnd they marched me away to the war.nnAnd the band played Waltzing Matilda,nAs the ship pulled away from the quay,nAnd amidst all the cheers,nThe flag waving and tears,nWe sailed off for Gallipoli.nnAnd how well I remember that terrible Day,nWhen our blood stained the sand,nAnd the water.nAnd how in the hell,nThey called Suvla Bay,nWe were butchered like lambs at the slaughter. nnJohnny Turk he was waiting,nHe'd primed himself well.nHe showered us with bullets,nAnd he rained us with shell,nAnd in five minutes flat,nHe'd blown us all to hell,nNearly blew us right back to AustraliannBut the band played Waltzing Matilda,nWhen we stopped to bury our slain,nWe buried ours, nAnd the turks buried theirs,nThen we started all over again.nnAnd those that were left,nWell we tried to survive,nIn that mad world of blood, death and fire.nnAnd for 10 weary weeks,nI kept myself alive,nThough around me the corpses piled higher.nnThen a big Turkish shell knocked me arse overhead,nAnd when i woke up in me hospital bed,nAnd saw what it had done,nWell I wished I was dead, nNever knew there was worse things than dying.nnFor I'll go no more Waltzing Matilda,nAll around the green bush far and free, To hump tents and pegs,nA man needs both legs,nNo more Waltzing Matilda for me.nnSo they gathered the crippled,nThe wounded, the maimed,nAnd they shipped us back home to Australia.nThe legless,nThe armless,nThe blind,nThe insane,nThose proud wounded heroes of Suvla.nnAnd as our ship pulled into Circular Quay, I looked at the place where me legs used to be,nAnd thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me, nto grieve, to mourn, and to pity.nnAnd the band played Waltzing Matilda, As they carried us down the gangway, But nobody cheered,nThey just stood and stared,nAnd they turned all their faces away. nnAnd so now,nEvery April,nI sit on me porch, nAnd I watch the parade pass before me. nAnd I see my old comrades, nHow proud they may march, nReviving old dreams of past glories. And the old men march slowly, nOur bones stiff and sore,nThey're tired old heroes from a forgotten war,nAnd the young people ask,nWhat are they marching for,nAnd I ask meself the same question. nnBut the band plays Waltzing Matilda,nAnd the old men still answer the call, But as year follows year,nMore old men disappear,nSome day no-one will march there at allnnWaltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me, nAnd their ghosts may be heard as they march by that billabong,nWho'll come a-waltzing matilda with me.nnnn