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Waltzing Mattilda ( 0) Printer friendly page Print This
By "Auzzi" Smith
Rec'd from Robert Slothus, Axis Reader
Tuesday, Oct 19, 2004

Waltzing Mattilda
When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover.
From the Murries green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Mattilda all over.
Then in 1915 my country said "son
Its time to stop rambling coz theres work to be done."
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun,
And they sent me away to the War.
And the band played "Waltzing Mattilda"
As we sailed away from the Quey
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed of to Gallippoli.
How well I remember that terrible day
When the blood stained the sand and the water.
When how in that Hell that they called "Sovla Bay"
We was butchered like lambs to the slaughter.
Jonny Turk he was ready, he`d primed himself well
He rained us with bullets and showered us with shell
And in five minutes flat he`d blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia.
And the band played "Waltzing Mattilda"
As we stoped to bury our slain,
And as we buried ours the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again.
Now those who were living did their best to survive
In that mad world of mud,blood and fire.
And for seven long weeks I kept myself alive
While the corpses around me pilled higher.
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head
And when I awoke in me Hostpital bed
And saw what it had done ,Christ !! I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worst things than dying.
And no more Ill go waltzing Mattilda,
To the green so far and so near.
For to hang tents and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more "Waltzing Mattilda" for me.
So they collected the cripples the wounded and maimed
And they shiped us back home to Austrailia.
The leggless, the armless, the blind and insane
Those proud wounded heros of Sovla.
And as our ship pulled in to Circular Bay
And I looked at the place where me legs use to be
I thank Christ that theres nobody waiting for me.
To grieve and to mourn and to pity.
And the band played "Waltzing Mattilda"
As they carried us down the gangway.
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then they turned their faces away.
So now every April I sit on my pourch
And I watch the parade pass before me.
I see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving proud days of past glory.
I see the old men all battered and torn
The forgotten heros of a forgotten war
And the young people ask me what their marching for.
And I ask myself the same question.
And the band plays "Waltzing Mattilda"
And the old men still answer the call.
But year after year, their numbers get fewer
Soon no one will march there at all.
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