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Written by Scottish-born Australian singer-songwriter Eric Bogle in 1971. The song describes war as futile and gruesome, while criticising those who seek to glorify it. - Wikipedia
Sure, you all know the Pogues version, but I like Eric Bogle’s better

    Band Played Waltzing Mathilda

    by Eric Bogle
    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] Matilda 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] Matilda
    As our ship pulled [Dm] away from the [G7] quay (pron. “key”)
    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 Matilda
    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

    [no accompaniment]

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

    [C] Waltzing Matilda, [F] Waltzing [G7] Matilda
    [C] Who’ll come a waltzing Matilda with [G7] me?
    and their [C] ghosts may be [G7] heard as they [C] march past that [F] Billabong
    [C] Who’ll come a Waltzing [G7] Matilda with [C] me?