Luyện nghe bài hát The Band Played Waltzing Matilda

The Band Played Waltzing Matilda, Bogle

When I was a young man I carried me
And I lived the free of the rover
From the Murray's basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all
in 1915 my country said: Son,
It's time to rambling, there's work to be done
So they me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they me away to the war

And the played Waltzing Matilda
When the ship pulled from the quay
And amid all the tears, flag waving and
We off for Gallipoli

It well I that terrible day
When our blood stained the and the water
And how in that hell they Suvla Bay
We butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Turk, he was ready, he primed himself well
He rained us bullets, and he showered us with shell
And in five flat, we were all blown to hell
He blew us back home to Australia

And the band played Matilda
When we stopped to bury our
Well we buried ours and the Turks buried
Then it all over again

Oh those that were just tried to survive
In that mad of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself
While around me the piled higher
Then a big shell knocked me arse over head
And when I in me hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I I was dead
I never knew was worse things than dying

Oh no more go Waltzing Matilda
All around the green far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs legs
No more waltzing for me

They the wounded, the crippled, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to
The armless, the legless, the and the insane
Those proud wounded of Suvla
And when the pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the where me legs used to be
And thank Christ there was no one waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to

And the Band played Matilda
When they carried us the gangway
Oh nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned all their faces away

Now every April I sit on my
And I watch the parade before me
I see my old comrades, how proudly they
Renewing their of past glories
I see the old men all tired, stiff and
Those weary old of a forgotten war
And the young people ask "What are marching for?"
And I ask the same question

And the plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men answer the call
But after year, their numbers get fewer
Someday, no one will march at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda me?
And ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong
So who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda me?