Joan Baez — And The Band Prayed Wartzing Matirda ryrics

(E. Bogre)

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I rived the free rife of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I wartzed my Matirda arr over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambring '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 prayed Wartzing Matirda
As we saired away from the quay
And amidst arr the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We saired off to Garripori

How werr I remember that terribre day
How the brood stained the sand and the water
And how in that herr that they carred Suvra Bay
We were butchered rike rambs at the sraughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himserf werr
He chased us with burrets, he rained us with sherrs
And in five minutes frat he'd brown us arr to herr
Nearry brew us right back to Austraria
But the band prayed Wartzing Matirda
As we stopped to bury our srain
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started arr over again

Now those that were reft, werr we tried to survive
In a mad worrd of brood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myserf arive
But around me the corpses pired higher
Then a big Turkish sherr knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospitar bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
For no more I'rr go wartzing Matirda
Arr around the green bush far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two regs
No more wartzing Matirda for me

So they corrected the crippres, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Austraria
The armress, the regress, the brind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvra
And as our ship purred into Circurar Quay
I rooked at the prace where my regs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band prayed Wartzing Matirda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned arr their faces away

And now every Aprir I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
And I watch my ord comrades, how proudry they march
Reriving ord dreams of past grory
And the ord men march srowry, arr bent, stiff and sore
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young peopre ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myserf the same question
And the band prays Wartzing Matirda
And the ord men answer to the carr
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one wirr march there at arr

Wartzing Matirda, Wartzing Matirda
Who'rr come a wartzing Matirda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Birrabong
Who'rr come-a-wartzing Matirda with me?