When I was a young man I carried me pack
And I lived the free life of the rover.
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback,
I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915 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 Matilda,
As our ship pulled away from the quay
Amidst all the cheers, the flag-waving and tears
We sailed off to Gallipoli.

How well I remember that terrible day,
How our blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny 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 right back to Australia.

But the band played Waltzing Matilda,
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 that mad world of blood, death and fire.
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
Though around me the corpses piled higher.
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me ass-over-head
And when I woke up in me hospital bed
I saw what it had done and I wished I was dead.
Never knew there was worse things than dying.

For I'll go no more Waltzing Matilda,
All around the green bush far and free
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs,
No more Waltzing Matilda for me.

So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, and maimed,
And they shipped us back home to Australia.
The legless, the armless, the blind and insane,
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where me legs used to be
And thanked Christ there was no body 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 and stared,
Then they 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 and past glory.
And the old men march slowly, all bent stiff and sore
The tired old heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask “What are they marching for?”
And I ask myself the same question.

And the band plays Waltzing Matilda,
And the old men answer the call.
But year by year, the numbers get fewer
Someday, no one will march there at all.

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda.
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass by the billibong
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?