When [C] I was a [F] young man, I [C] carried my [Am] pack
and I [C] lived the free [G7] life of a [C] rover
From [C] Murrays green [F] basin to the [C] dusty out-[Am] back
I [C] waltzed the [G7] Mathilda all [C] over
Then in [G7] Nineteen fifteen my [F] country said [C] "Son,
It's [G7] it's time to stop ramblin', there's [F] work to be [C]done
So they [C] gave me a [F] tin hat and they [C] gave me a [Am] gun
and they [C] sent me [G7] away to the [C] war

And the [C] band played [F] Waltzing [C] Mathilda
As our ship pulled [Dm] away from the [G7] quay
A-[F] midst all the cheers, the flag-[C] waving and [Am] tears
We [C] sailed off for [G7] Galli- [C] poli

How well I remember that terrible day
When the blood stained the sand and the water
and how in that town that they called Sulva Bay
We were butchered like lambs to the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He showered us with bullets and he reamed us with shells
and in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia

And the band played Waltzing Mathilda
as we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again

And those that were left, well we tried to survive
In that mad world of death blood and fire
and for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
while the corpses around me piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head
and when I woke up in my hospital bed
and saw what it had done well, I wished I was dead
Never knew there was worse things than dying

For I'll go no more played Waltzing Mathilda
All around the green bush far and free
But to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Mathilda for me

So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed
and shipped us right back to Australia
the legless, the armless, the blind and insane
Those proud wounded heros of Sulva
and when 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 grieve, 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 turned all their faces away

And 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
reviving old dreams of past glories
And the old men march slowly, all bound, stiff and sore
They're tired old heros of a forgotten war
When the young people ask "What are they marching for?"
and I ask myself the same question

But the band played Waltzing Mathilda
the old men still answer the call
but as year follows year, more old men disappear
some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Mathilda, Waltzing Mathilda
Who'll come a waltzing mathilda with me?
and their ghosts may be heard as they march past that Billabong
Who'll come a Waltzing Mathilda with me?

Sure, you all know the Pogues version, but I like Eric Bogle's better