The Band Played Waltzing Matilda Eric Bogle [C] [G7] [C] [C] Now, when [C] I was a young [F] man I [C] carried me [Am] pack, and I [C] lived the free [G7] life of- the [C] rover. From the Murray's green [F] basin to the [C] dusty out[Am]back, well, I [C] waltzed my Ma[G7]tilda all [C] over. Then in [G7] nineteen fifteen my [F] country said, [C] Son, it's [G7] time you stop rambling, there's [F] work to be [C] done” So they gave me a [F] tin hat and they [C] gave me a [Am] gun and they [C] marched me a[G7]way to the [C] war. [F] [C] And the [C] band played [F] Waltzing Ma[C]tilda, as the ship pulled a[F] way from the [G] quay. And [F] ’midst all the cheers, the flag [C] waving and [F] tears, we [C] sailed off for [G7] Gallipo[C]li. [G7] [C] And how [C] well I re[F]member that [C] terrible [Am] day, how our [C] blood stained the [G7] sand and the [C] water. And how in that [F] hell that they [C] called Suvla [Am] Bay, we were [C] butchered like [G7] lambs at the [C] slaughter. Johnny [G7] Turk, he was ready, he’d [F] primed himself [C] well, he [G7] showered us with bullets and he [F] rained us with [C] shell And in five minutes [F] flat he’d blown [C] us all to [Am] hell, nearly [C] blew us right [G7] back to Aus[C]tralia [F] [C] But the [C] band played [F] Waltzing Ma[C]tilda, when we stopped to [F] bury our [G] slain. [F] We buried ours, and the [C] Turks buried [F] theirs, then we [C] started all [G7] over a[C] gain. [G7] [C] And [C] those that were [F] left, well, we [C] tried to sur[Am]vive, in that [C] mad world of [G7] blood, death and [C] fire. And for ten weary [F] weeks I kept [C] myself a[Am]live, though a[C]round me the [G7] corpses piled [C] higher. Then a [G7] big Turkish shell knocked me [F] arse over [C] head, and [G7] when I woke up in me [F] hospital [C] bed And saw what it had [F] done, well, I [C] wished I was [Am] dead, - never [C] knew there was [G7] worse things than [C] dying. [F] [C] For I'll [C] go no more [F] Waltzing Ma[C]tilda, All around the green [F] bush, far and [G] free. To [F] hump tent and pegs, a [C] man needs both [F] legs, no more '[C] Waltzing Ma[G7]tilda' for [C] me. [G7] [C] So they [C] gathered the [F] crippled, the [C] wounded, the [Am] maimed, and they [C] shipped us back [G7] home to Aus[C]tralia. The legless, the [F] armless, the [C] blind and in[Am]sane, those [C] proud wounded [G7] heroes of [C] Suvla. And [G7] when our ship pulled into [F] Circular [C] Quay, I [G7]looked at the place where [F] me legs used to [C] be. And thanked Christ, there was [F] nobody [C] waiting for [Am]me, to [C]grieve, to [G7]mourn, and to [C]pity. [F] [C] But the [C] band played [F] Waltzing Ma[C]tilda, as they carried us [F] down the gang[G]way. But [F]nobody cheered, they [C]just stood and [Am]stared, then they [C]turned all their [G7]faces a[C]way.[G7] [C] And so [C] now every [F] April I [C] sit on me [Am] porch, and I [C] watch the pa[G7]rade pass be[C]fore me And I see my old [F] comrades, how [C] proudly they [Am] march, re[C]viving old [G7] dreams and past [C] glory. And the [G7] old men march slowly, old [F] bones stiff and [C] sore; they’re [G7] tired old heroes from a [F] forgotten [C] war. And the young people [F] ask “What are [C] they marching [Am] for?” and [C] I ask me[G7]self the same [C] question. [F] [C] [C] But the band plays [F] Waltzing Ma[C]tilda, and the old men still [F] answer the [G] call. But as [F] year follows year, the old [C] men get [F]fewer, some day [C] no one will [G] march there at [C] all. [C] Waltzing matilda, [F] waltzing matilda, [C] who'll come a-[Am]waltzing ma[Dm]tilda with [G7] me? And their [C] ghosts may be [G7] heard as they [C] march by that [F] Billabong, [C] Who'll come a-[Am] waltzing ma[G7]tilda with [C] me?