Scorn Of The Women

I re[G]member respectfully like [D]others before me
All [A]those folk who fell in the war
And [G]I hear you singing songs [D]of lamentation
But I [A]don’t wish to hear them no [D]more
[A]What did you do in the time of the war? It’s a q[G]uestion asked by every[A]one
I s[G]tood in a line my screwd[D]river in hand making [A]aircraft out at Lavert[D]on

   So don’t [G]sing no songs about Waltz[D]ing Matilda
   Don’t [A]tell me I [G]tried, don’t [A]tell me I [G]failed
   For [G]all I recall is the [D]scorn of the women
   And a [A]white feather that I received in the [D]mail

I re[G]member the day I went [D]down to enlist
And they [A]said “Read this chart on the wall”
I rem[G]ember the tone of the [D]voice of the doctor
As he [A]said to me: “That will be all. Thank you very much”     [D]
R[A]iding home slowly I sat on my tram not [G]sure if to laugh or to [A]cry
For to [G]train in the camps, sure, a [D]man needs his lamps
And a [A]good soldier he must have good [D]eyes

Well it [G]takes more than bullets to [D]murder and maim
Whether [A]worn down or beaten a death’s still a death
And you [G]know sometimes when I think [D]back to the forties
I [A]pray for my very last [D]breath
You [A]know I have nothing against those who fought
But for [G]Christ’s sake we do what we [A]can
And there’s [G]more than one way that you [D]can skin a cat
And there’s [A]more than one way you can cripple a [D]man