The Band Played Waltzing Matilda

[A] [A] [A]
When I was a [D]young man, I [A]carried my pack.
And I lived the free [E]life, of a [A]rover.
>From the Murray's green [E]basin,
To the [D]dusty [A]outback,
I waltzed my [E]matilda all [A]over.
Then in [E]1915, my [D]country said [A]"son"
"It's t[E]ime to stop rambling,"
"Cos there's [D]work to be [A]done."
So they gave me a [D]tin hat,
And they [A]gave me a gun,
And they sent me [E]away to the w[A]ar.

And the band played [D]Waltzing [A]Matilda,
As we sailed [D]away from the [E]quay.
And [D]amidst all the tears,
And the s[A]houts and the cheers,
We sailed off for [E]Galipol[A]i

How well I [D]remember that [A]terrible day,
when the blood stained the [E]sand and the [A]water.
And how in that [E]hell
that they [D]called Souvla [A]Bay
We were butchered like [E]lambs at the [A]slaughter.
Johnny [E]Turk, he was ready, He'd [D]primed himself [A]well.
He [E]showered us with bullets,
And he [D]rained us with [A]shells.
And in five minutes [D]flat,
he'd blown [A]us all to hell.
Nearly blew us right [E]back to [A]Australia.

And the band played [D]Waltzing [A]Matilda,
As we stopped to bury our [E]slain.
And [D]we buried ours
and the [A]Turks buried theirs,
And it started all [E]over [A]again.

Now those who were [D]living, Did their [A]best to survive,
In that mad world of [E]guts, blood, and [A]fire.
And for seven long [E]weeks,
I [D]kept myself [A]alive,
As the corpses ar[E]ound me piled [A]higher.
Then a [E]big Turkish shell, Knocked me [D]arse over [A]tit.
And [E]when I awoke
in my ho[D]spital [A]bed,
And saw what it had [D]done,
Christ I [A]wished I was dead.
Never knew there were [E]worse things than [A]dying.

And no more I'll go [D]Waltzing [A]Matilda,
To the green bushes so far and [E]near.
For to [D]hang tent and pegs
A [A]man needs two legs.
No more Waltzing Mat[E]ilda for [A]me.

So they collected the [D]crippled, The [A]wounded and maimed,
And they shipped us back [E]home to [A]Australia.
The legless, the [E]armless,
the [D]blind and in[A]sane.
Those proud wounded [E]heroes of [A]Souvla
And [E]as our ship pulled into [D]Circular [A]Quay
I [E]looked at the place
where my l[D]egs used to [A]be.
And thank Christ, there was [D]nobody
[A]waiting for me,
To grieve and to [E]mourn and to [A]pity.

And the band played [D]Waltzing [A]Matilda,
As they carried us down the gang[E]way.
But [D]nobody cheered,
They [A]just stood and stared,
And they turned their [E]faces [A]away.

And now every [D]April, I [A]sit on my porch,
And I watch the [E]parades pass [A]before me.
I see my old [E]comrades,
How [D]proudly they [A]march.
Reliving the [E]dreams of past [A]glory.
I [E]see the old men, all t[D]wisted and [A]torn.
The [E]forgotten heroes
of a [D]forgotten [A]war.
And the young people [D]ask me,
What are [A]they marching for?
And I ask my se[E]lf the same [A]question.

And the band plays [D]Waltzing [A]Matilda,
And the old men still answer the [E]call.
But [D]year after year,
Their [A]numbers get fewer,
Someday no-one will [E]march there at [A]all.

[A]Waltzing Matilda, [D]Waltzing Matilda
[A]Who'll come a waltzing matilda with [E]me?

[A] [A] [E] [A]