By Eric Bogel (As Performed by The Pogues)
When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Mathilda all over
Then in 1915 my country said, "Son
It's time to stop ramblin', 'cause there's work to be done"
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And sent me away to the war
And the band played "Waltzing Mathilda"
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears, flag-waving and cheers
We sailed off for Gallipoli
How well I remember that terrible day
When the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that Hell they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs to the slaughter
Johnny Turk, he was ready, he'd primed himself well
He showered us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in 5 minutes flat he'd blown us all to Hell
Then he blew us right back to Austrailia
And the band played "Waltzing Mathilda"
As we stopped to bury our slain
And we buried ours
And the Turks buried theirs
And it started all over again
Now those who were living did their best to survive
In a mad world of death, blood and fire
And for 7 long weeks I kept myself alive
While the corpses around me piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I awoke in my hospital bed
And saw what he had done
Christ I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dyin'
And no more I'll go waltzing Mathilda
To the green bushes so far and near
For to hang tent and pegs
A man needs two legs
No more waltzing Mathilda for me
So they collected the cripples, 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 my legs used to be
And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To greive 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 and stared
And they turned their faces away
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 the dreams of past glory
I see the old men all twisted and torn
The forgotten heroes of a forgotten war
And the young people ask me, "What are they marchin' for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays "Waltzing Mathilda"
And the old men still answer the call
But year after year, their numbers get fewer
Someday no one will march there at all
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda
Who'll go waltzing Mathilda with me...