Now when I was a young man, I carried my pack.nAnd I lived the free life of a rovernFrom the Murray's green basinnTo the dusty outback,nI waltzed my matilda all over.nThen in nineteen fifteen, my country said sonnIt's time to stop rambling,nThere's work to be done.nSo they gave me a tin hat,nAnd they gave me a gun,nAnd they sent me away to the war.nnAnd the band played Waltzing Matilda,nAs the ship pulled away from the QuaynAnd amidst all the tears,nFlagwaving and cheersnWe sailed off for GallipolinnWell I remember that terrible daynWhen our blood stained the sand and the waternAnd how in that hell that they called Suvla BaynWe were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.nJohnny Turk he was readynOh he primed himself well.nHe rained us with bullets,nAnd he showered us with shells.nAnd in five minutes flat,nWe were all blown to hellnNearly blew us back home to Australia.nnAnd the band played Waltzing Matilda,nWhen we stopped to bury our slain.nAnd we buried ours and the Turks buried theirs,nAnd it started all over again.nnThose who were living,nJust tried to survivenIn that mad world of blood, death and firenAnd for ten weary weeks,nI kept myself alive,nWhile around me the corpses piled highernThen a big Turkish shell,nKnocked me arse over headnAnd when I awoke in my hospital bed,nAnd saw what it had done,nThen I wished I was dead.nI never knew there were worse things than dying.nnFor no more I'll go Waltzing Matilda,nAll around the green bush far and nearnFor to hump tent and pegsnA man needs both legsnNo more Waltzing Matilda for me.nnThey collected the woundednThe crippled, the maimed,nAnd they shipped us back home to Australia.nThe armless, the leglessnThe blind, the insane.nThose proud wounded heroes of SuvlanAnd when the ship pulled into Circular QuaynI looked at the place where me legs used to be.nAnd thanked Christ there was no one there waiting for menTo grieve and to mourn and to pity.nnAnd the band played Waltzing Matilda,nAs they carried us down the gangway.nBut nobody cheered,nThey just stood there and stared,nThen they turned all their faces awaynnSo now every April,nI sit on my porch,nAnd I watch the parade pass before me.nI see my old comrades,nHow proudly they march.nRenewing their dreams of past gloriesnI see the old men, all tired, stiff and sorenThe weary old heroes of a forgotten warnAnd the young people ask,nWhat are they marching for?nAnd I ask myself the same question.nnAnd the band plays Waltzing MatildanAnd the old men still answer the callnBut as year follows year,nMore old men disappearnSomeday no one will march there at all.nnWaltzing Matilda, Waltzing MatildanWho'll come a waltzing matilda with me?nAnd their ghosts may be heardnAs they march by the billabongnWho'll come a-waltzing matilda with me?