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When I was a young man I carried my pack |
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And I lived the free life of a rover |
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From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback |
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I waltzed my Matilda all over |
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Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son |
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It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be |
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done |
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So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun |
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And they sent me away to the war |
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And the band played Waltzing Matilda |
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As we sailed away from the quay |
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And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the |
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cheers |
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We sailed off to Gallipoli |
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How well I remember that terrible day |
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When the blood stained the sand and the water |
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And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay |
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We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter |
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Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well |
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He showered us with bullets, he rained us with |
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shells |
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And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell |
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Nearly blew us right back to Australia |
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But the band played Waltzing Matilda |
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As we stopped to bury our slain |
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And we buried ours and the Turks buried theirs |
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Then it started all over again |
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Now those who were living did their best to survive |
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In that mad world of blood, death and fire |
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And for seven long weeks I kept myself alive |
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While the corpses around me piled higher |
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Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit |
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And when I woke up in my hospital bed |
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And saw what it had done, Christ I wished I was |
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dead |
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Never knew there were worse things than dying |
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And no more I'll go waltzing Matilda |
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To the green bushes so far and near |
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For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs |
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No more waltzing Matilda for me |
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So they collected the cripples, the wounded and |
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maimed |
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And they shipped us back home to Australia |
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The legless, the armless, the blind and insane |
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Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla |
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And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay |
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I looked at the place where me legs used to be |
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And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me |
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To grieve and to mourn and to pity |
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And the band played Waltzing Matilda |
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As they carried us down the gangway |
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But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared |
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And they turned all their faces away |
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And now every April I sit on my porch |
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And I watch the parade pass before me |
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I see my old comrades, how proudly they march |
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Reliving the or their dreams of past glory |
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I see the old men, all twisted and torn |
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The forgotten heroes of a forgotten war |
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And the young people ask me, What are they |
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marching for? |
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And I ask myself the same question |
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And the band plays Waltzing Matilda |
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And the old men still answer to the call |
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But year after year their numbers get fewer |
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Some day no one will march there at all |
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Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda |
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Who'll go a-waltzing Matilda with me? |