When I was a young man I carried my pack
\nAnd I lived the free life of a rover
\nFrom the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
\nI waltzed my Matilda all over
\nThen in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
\nIt’s time to stop rambling ’cause there’s work to be done
\nSo they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
\nAnd they sent me away to the war
\nAnd the band played Waltzing Matilda
\nAs we sailed away from the quay
\nAnd amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
\nWe sailed off to Gallipoli<\/p>\n
How well I remember that terrible day
\nHow the blood stained the sand and the water
\nAnd how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
\nWe were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
\nJohnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
\nHe chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells
\nAnd in five minutes flat he’d blown us all to hell
\nNearly blew us right back to Australia
\nBut the band played Waltzing Matilda
\nAs we stopped to bury our slain
\nWe buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
\nThen we started all over again<\/p>\n
Now those that were left, well we tried to survive
\nIn a mad world of blood, death and fire
\nAnd for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
\nBut around me the corpses piled higher
\nThen a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
\nAnd when I woke up in my hospital bed
\nAnd saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
\nNever knew there were worse things than dying
\nFor no more I’ll go waltzing Matilda
\nAll around the green bush far and near
\nFor to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
\nNo more waltzing Matilda for me<\/p>\n
So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
\nAnd they shipped us back home to Australia
\nThe armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
\nThose proud wounded heroes of Suvla
\nAnd as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
\nI looked at the place where my legs used to be
\nAnd thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
\nTo grieve and to mourn and to pity
\nAnd the band played Waltzing Matilda
\nAs they carried us down the gangway
\nBut nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
\nThen turned all their faces away<\/p>\n
And now every April I sit on my porch
\nAnd I watch the parade pass before me
\nAnd I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march
\nReliving old dreams of past glory
\nAnd the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore
\nThe forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
\nAnd the young people ask, “What are they marching for?”
\nAnd I ask myself the same question
\nAnd the band plays Waltzing Matilda
\nAnd the old men answer to the call
\nBut year after year their numbers get fewer
\nSome day no one will march there at all<\/p>\n
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
\nWho’ll go a waltzing Matilda with me
\nAnd their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong
\nWho’ll go a waltzing Matilda with me?<\/p>\n
Streets Of Sorrow \/ Birmingham Six<\/b> Oh farewell you streets of sorrow So farewell you streets of sorrow There were six men in Birmingham In Ireland they’ll put you away in the Maze You’ll be counting years A curse on the judges, the coppers and screws You’ll be counting years May the whores of the empire lie awake in their beds You’ll be counting years Counting years The Band Played Waltzing Matilda By Eric Bogle When I was a young man I carried my pack And I lived the free life of a rover From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback I waltzed my Matilda … Continue reading
\nBy Shane MacGowan \/ Terry Woods (1988<\/a>)<\/p>\n
\nOh farewell you streets of pain
\nI’ll not return to feel more sorrow
\nNor to see more young men slain
\nThrough the last six years I’ve lived through terror
\nAnd in the darkened streets the pain
\nOh how I long to find some solace
\nIn my mind I curse the strain <\/p>\n
\nAnd farewell you streets of pain
\nNo I’ll not return to feel more sorrow
\nNor to see more young men slain <\/p>\n
\nIn Guildford there’s four
\nThat were picked up and tortured
\nAnd framed by the law
\nAnd the filth got promotion
\nBut they’re still doing time
\nFor being Irish in the wrong place
\nAnd at the wrong time <\/p>\n
\nIn England they’ll keep you for several long days
\nGod help you if ever you’re caught on these shores
\nAnd the coppers need someone
\nAnd they walk through that door <\/p>\n
\nFirst five, then ten
\nGrowing old in a lonely hell
\nRound the yard and the stinking cell
\nFrom wall to wall, and back again <\/p>\n
\nWho tortured the innocent, wrongly accused,
\nFor the price of promotion
\nAnd justice to sell
\nMay the judged be their judges when they rot down in hell <\/p>\n
\nFirst five, then ten
\nGrowing old in a lonely hell
\nRound the yard and lousy cell
\nFrom wall to wall, and back again <\/p>\n
\nAnd sweat as they count out the sins on their heads
\nWhile over in Ireland eight more men lie dead
\nKicked down and shot in the back of the head <\/p>\n
\nFirst five, then ten
\nGrowing old in a freezing hell
\nRound the yard and the lousy cell
\nFrom wall and back again <\/p>\n
\nFirst five, then ten
\nGrowing old in a lonely hell
\nRound the yard and the lousy cell
\nFrom wall to wall and back again
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