And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda-The Bushwackers

And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda - The Bushwackers Now when I was a young man I carried me pack And I lived the free life of the rover. From the Murray's green banks to the dusty outback I waltzed me Matilda all over. Then in 1915, my country said, 'Son, No time to for rovin', there's work to be done.' And they gave me a tin hat, and gave me a gun, And they sent me away to the war. And the band played 'Waltzing Matilda,' As our ship pulled away from the quay, And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving, and tears, We sailed off for Gallipoli. Oh well I remember that terrible day, When our blood stained the sand and the water; And how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter. Johnny Turk he was waiting, he'd primed himself well, Showered us with bullets and rained us with shells. And in ten minutes flat he'd blown us to hell, Nearly blew us right back to Australia. And the band played 'Waltzing Matilda,' As we stopped to ferry the slain, We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs, Then we started all over again. They collected the crippled, the wounded, and maimed, And they shipped us back home to Australia. The armless, the legless, the blind, and insane, All the brave wounded heroes of Suvla. And when our ship pulled into Circular Quay, And I looked at the place where me legs used to be, I thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me, To grieve and to mourn and to pity. And the band played 'Waltzing Matilda,' As they carried us down the gangway, But nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared, And then turned their faces away. So now every April I sit on my porch, And I watch the parade pass before me. And I see my old comrades how proudly they march, Reliving old dreams and past glories. But the old men march slowly, their bones stiff and sore, Tired old men from the tired old War. And the young people ask what are they marching for, And I ask meself the same question. But the band played 'Waltzing Matilda,' And the old men they answer the call, But year by year, those old men disappear, Someday, no one will march there at all. (Waltzing Matilda plays)