Waltzing Mathilda
When I was a young man I carried my pack,
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Mathilda all over
Then in nineteen fiftee the country said: "Son,
It's time to stop rambling there's work to be done"
And 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 Mathilda
As our ship pulled away from the quay
And amidst all the cheers, flagwaving and tears,
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 town that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Hohnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us back home to Australia.
But the band played Waltzing Mathilda
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
But around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knoked my arse over head
And I woke up in my hospital bed
I saw what it had done and I wisched I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
For I'll go no more Waltzing Mathilda
All around the green bush far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs
No more Waltzing Mathilda 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 my legs used to be
And thanked Christ there was no one there waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Mathilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared
Then 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
Renewing old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore
The tired old heroes of a forgotten war
And the young people ask, 'what are they marching for?'
And I ask myself the same question
And the band played Waltzing Mathilda
And the old men still answer the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all
(last chorus to the tune "Waltzing Mathilda")
Waltzing Mathilda, Waltzing Mathilda
Who'll come a-waltzing Mathilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong
Who'll come a-waltzing Mathilda with me?
tune and lyrics by Eric Bogle
Eric Bogle is an Australian songwriter of Scottish origin who also wrote "The Green Fields of France" and
"Leaving Nancy". I first heard his songs performed by "The Furey's and Davey Arthur" before
I bought his "Eric Bogle Songbook" 1 and 2 which were rather difficult to get in Germany.