Eric Bogle - The Band Played Waltzing Matilda Chords
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[Opening]
[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]
[verse 2]
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]
[verse 3]
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]
[verse 4]
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]
[verse 5]
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, more old [C]men disa[F]ppear,
some day [C]no one will [G]march there at [C]all.
[Closing]
[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?