Här finns ett YouTube-klipp med låten (så länge det finns tillgängligt). 
Det är med kompositören själv, Eric Bogle. 


 And the band played Waltzing Matilda
 

When I was a young man I carried my pack,
and I lived the free life of the rover.
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son,
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's 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 Matilda,
When the ship pulled away from the quay.
And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving and tears,
we sailed off to Gallipoli
 
How well I remember that terrible day,
how the blood stained the sand and the water.
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay,
we were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk he was waiting, he primed himself well,
he showered us with bullets, he rained us with shells.
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell,
nearly blew us right back to Australia.

But the band played Waltzing Matilda,
When we stopped to bury our slain.
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs,
then we started all over again.
 
Now those that were left, well we tried to survive,
in a mad world of blood, death and fire.
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive,
but around me the corpses 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, I wished I was dead,
never knew there were worse things than dying.

For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda,
all around the green bush far and free.
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs,
no more waltzing Matilda for me.
 
So they gathered the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
and they shipped us back home to Australia.
The legless, the armless, the blind, the insane,
those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay,
I looked at the place where my legs used to be.
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me,
To grieve and to mourn and to pity.

And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
as they carried us down the gangway.
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,
then turned all their faces away.
 
And now every April I sit on my porch,
and I watch the parade pass before me.
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march,
reliving old dreams of past glory.
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore,
the tired old heroes from a forgotten war.
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question.

And the band plays Waltzing Matilda,
and the old men still answer to the call.
But as year follows year, more old men dissapear,
some day no one will march there at all ...
 
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll come a waltzing Matilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as they march my the Billabong
Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me? 



Text: Eric Bogle
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