Eric Bogle AM (born 23 September 1944, Peebles, Scotland) is a folk singer-songwriter. He emigrated to Australia in 1969 and currently resides near Adelaide, South Australia. On 25 January 1987, he was appointed a Member of the Order of Australia for his work as a singer-songwriter. In May 2001 the Australasian Performing Right Association (APRA), as part of its 75th Anniversary celebrations, named his song, "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda", as one of the Top 30 Australian songs of all time.
Eric Bogle was born on 23 September 1944 in Peebles, Scotland. His father was a woodcutter who played bagpipes. Bogle started writing poetry when he was eight-years-old. After attending school until 16-years-old, Bogle worked in various trades: labourer, clerk and barman. In 1969, Bogle emigrated to Australia and initially lived in the capital, Canberra, where he worked as an accountant. He had an interest in politics and by 1980 had moved to Queensland before settling in Adelaide.
Eric Bogle taught himself to play guitar and joined a skiffle and rock band. He was the leader of Eric and the Informers in Scotland. His early influences were Lonnie Donegan, Elvis Presley and Ewan MacColl. He turned to folk music prior to emigrating to Australia – his first written songs concerned his parents. When living in Canberra he joined the local folk music scene and performed occasionally.
Eric Bogle A Reason For It All
Eric Bogle - The Band Played Waltzing Matilda
Eric Bogle The Band Played Waltzing Matilda
Eric Bogle - The Green Fields of France
Eric Bogle The Gift Of Years
Eric Bogle - As If He Knows
Leaving Nancy( Eric Bogle)
Eric Bogle - I Hate Wogs
Eric Bogle & John Munro : Nobodys Moggy
Eric Bogle The Dreamer
And Now I'm Easy( Eric Bogle)
And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda ~ Eric Bogle
Eric Bogle - If Wishes Were Fishes
Eric Bogle - No man's land - (Green fields of france)
Eric Bogle A Reason For It All
Eric Bogle - The Band Played Waltzing Matilda
Eric Bogle The Band Played Waltzing Matilda
Eric Bogle - The Green Fields of France
Eric Bogle The Gift Of Years
Eric Bogle - As If He Knows
Leaving Nancy( Eric Bogle)
Eric Bogle - I Hate Wogs
Eric Bogle & John Munro : Nobodys Moggy
Eric Bogle The Dreamer
And Now I'm Easy( Eric Bogle)
And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda ~ Eric Bogle
Eric Bogle - If Wishes Were Fishes
Eric Bogle - No man's land - (Green fields of france)
Eric Bogle - Leaving Nancy Live @ The Irish Club Perth
Singing the Spirit Home-Eric Bogle
Eric Bogle Scraps of Paper
Eric Bogle : The Aussie Bar-B-Q (1982)
Eric Bogle & John Munro - Green Fields of France
eric bogle
Eric Bogle-Rosie.
Eric Bogle Keeper Of The Flame video
Eric Bogle Silo
Eric Bogle The Green Fields of France
ERIC BOGLE Live Session
Eric Bogle The Colour Of Dreams
Traditional Folksinger's Lament (Eric Bogle, Live 1977)
Eric Bogle The Old Song Writing Blues x264
Eric Bogle : Shot Down In Flames (live 2011)
Dropkick Murphys-Eric Bogle "Green Fields of France" Live! (Cover) Matt Corette
Eric Bogle & John Munro : A Reason For It All
Eric Bogle - The Waltzing Matilda Waltz
Shelter(Eric Bogle)
Eric Bogle on 100.9fm - 18 May 2012
Eric Bogle - My Youngest Son Came Home Today.wmv
Eric Bogle : The band played "Waltzing Matilda"
Eric Bogle "And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda" Dawn Service
Eric Bogle The Enigma
Stephen James Smith performs The Band Plays Waltzing Matilda by Eric Bogle
524. I Hate Wogs (Eric Bogle)
Eric Bogle "And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda"@ Illawarra Folk Festival 2015
Eric Bogle - No man's land - (Green fields of france) - YouTube.flv
Tour De Fort: John McDermott and Eric Bogle
The Green Fields Of France
Tim, Gotye and Clare - No Man's Land
No Man's Land cover written by Eric Bogle
Jack Bogle - Part 1
ROAR 2005 11 29 Episode 22 And The Man Played Waltzing Matilda
Shining River (Eric Bogle cover)
Daan de Jonge - Timshel @ RPL FM Green Heart Connection & Podium 107.1
Now I'm Easy - Ronnie Drew & Stockton's Wing
John Williamson: Shelter
And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda ~ John Williamson
Tim Bogle Interview part 3
Band Played Waltzing Matilda - sung by G Dodsworth d62h4u
Mary Black - All The Fine Young Men
Bob Hudson - After Me Cat Left Home (full album)
And the Band played Waltzing Matilda book study Stage 3
World War One Battlefields
ROAR 2006 01 20 Episode 26 The ROAR In Review
15. Festival des politischen Liedes
Australian ads/promos 30 (1997)
ROAR 2010 09 09 Episode 95 Festivale 1
ROAR 2010 06 12 Episode 80 Double Barrelled Birthdaze
James & Joanna Bogle: A Life-long Catholic and a former Anglican - The Journey Home (03/17/2003)
Primate Research at UW - For The Record 2008
Dancehall Old School Classic of the 90s mix by djeasy
Joanna Bogle on Deep in Scripture 03/07/2012
90s Dancehall Style|...Beenie Man, Shabba, Super Cat, Buju Banton, Sean Paul, Mr. Vegas
7th Bashment - Bogle Anthems mixed by Banton Man
Using Animals In Research: Debate
90's Old School Dancehall Mix (With Tracklist)
USA Inc: John Bogle and Jason Zweig
BEST OF BUJU BANTON OLD SCHOOL REGGAE MIX OLDIES DANCEHALL MIX
Eric Rivera Trial. Opening Arguments. Oct 21. Day 1. Part 1. Partial
Bogle Cruise April 2011
Eric Hobsbawm / History and Understanding the Past (2000)
Eric Bogle, Australia's anti-war balladeer, reflects on Anzac
Centenary of ANZAC
Eric Bogle - Bushfire
Eric Bogle - Soldier Soldier
2014 Memorial Day (Vicki & Mark)
The Band Played Waltzing Matilda - Eric Bogle
Eric Bogle playing at Dardanos 25 Apr 2015
The Band Played Waltzing Matilda by Eric Bogle. Allan McIntyre
Green Fields of France
Green Fields of France
ANZAC the MUSIC
and the band played waltzing matilda 1915
Eric Bogle
Leaving Nancy
Green Fields of France Eric Bogle cover
And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda - Eric Bogle
Eric Bogle "One Small Star" @ Illawarra Folk Festival 2015
Eric Bogle "Waltzing Matilda Waltz" @Illawarra Folk Festival 2015
Eric Bogle "Colour of Dreams" @Illawarra Folk Festival 2015
Eric Bogle "Scraps Of Paper" Cover [ Phil McGarry]
Willie Mc Bride Wrote by Eric Bogle
"WALTZING MATILDA WALTZ"
- Eric Bogle
Well, once jolly swagmen* went humping their swags
and stuffed jolly jumbucks* down in their tucker bags
These days, jolly junkies go on house-breaking jags
and steal to buy the poison they need
While the swaggie, he just wanted a feed
And who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?
Hey Banjo*, this country's not what it used to be
We've changed all your words, and re-written your score
And it's "Waltzing Matilda" no more.
Once Henry and Mary, on a warm afternoon
rowed down Reedy River to the broad bright lagoon
The song of the river is a long vanished tune
since they built the uranium mine
and what's left is just toxic slime
And who'll come a-walting Matilda with me?
Oh, Henry, this country's not what it used to be
Days pass with a whimper, and not with a roar
And it's "Waltzing Matilda" no more.
Well, we cut down the trees, and the land we reclaimed
We ploughed and we planted, then we ploughed it again
and again and again, and again and again
So that now on a hot windy day
We can watch our topsoil blow away
And who'll come a-walting Matilda with me?
The desert is marching down to the sea
On the day that it stretches
from shore to shining shore
We'll go waltzing Matilda no more
Saturday night outside a King's Cross hotel
There stands our future, and it's halfway to hell
Kids with hard drugs and young bodies to sell
Hey Australia, what progress we've made!
We've come a long way, since Diamond day
And who'll come a-walting Matilda with me?
Hey Anzac*, is this what you fought to keep free?
A land fit for heroes, or junkies and whores?
And it's "Waltzing Matilda" no more.
And who'll come a-walting Matilda with me?
This country could still be what we want it to be
Perhaps one day soon, the dream will be restored
And we'll go Waltzing Matilda once more
We'll go Waltzing Matilda once more
NOTES:
ANZAC:
The combined Australia/New Zealand armies that fought in both World Wars
"Banjo" Patterson:
Author of "The Man From Snowy River" and "Waltzing Matilda"
Billabong:
A watering hole, specifically the curved meander of a winding stream
that has been isolated due to sand bar deposition
Swagman:
I believe in the US you refer to them as "hobos", though a swaggy is not
always someone financially down on their luck or On The Run. Some
swagmen are just fed up with city life and want to spend their time
exploring the country on foot, living off the land and the charity of
passers-by as best they can.
Coolibah tree:
The Eucalyptus Coolibah is a species of Eucalyptus tree commonly found
in inland parts of the Australian continent.
Billy:
A billy is a tin, often an old used fruit tin or other steel container,
used to boil water to make tea. Often they have a piece of wire
across their top used as a handle, whereupon after the water is boiling,
one holds the wire, places the desired amount of tea leaves in said
water, stands up, and swings the whole billy in a circular motion
vigorously in order to force the tea leaves to the bottom of the tin. A
rather nice touch is to crush a Coolibah leaf into the water too, giving
the tea a hint of eucalyptus.
Jumbuck;
A sheep (usually refers to a ram)
Tucker-bag;
A knapsack. "Tucker" means "food".
Squatter:
In Australia in the 19th century, large swathes of outback land were
divided up and mostly allocated to "squatters" - often wealthy
land-owners from Britain, who could afford the prices the government was
asking. There were also freehold selections free for the taking (all you
had to do was sign on the dotted line) made available to anyone who
would try to exploit the land, but the freehold lots tended to be poorer
land where it was a battle to earn to living. Squatters became fairly
wealthy from their allocations even taking over freehold selections in
the process of expanding their lots, reflected in the fact that this one
is riding on his thoroughbred horse.
Troopers:
The troopers are law enforcement. The squatter would have called
them in because the swagman has stolen a sheep from the squatter's property.
Matilda:
Given the lonely life of a swaggy, they tend to become quite
affectionate for things that are fairly important to their immediate
existence. In this case, AIUI "Matilda" is the swagman's sleeping gear -
typically a bedroll.
Cockie:
"NOW I'M EASY"
- Eric Bogle
For nearly sixty years, I've been a Cockie
Of droughts and fires and floods I've lived through plenty
This country's dust and mud have seen my tears and blood
But it's nearly over now, and now I'm easy
I married a fine girl when I was twenty
But she died in giving birth when she was thirty
No flying doctor then, just a gentle old black 'gin
But it's nearly over now, and now I'm easy
She left me with two sons and a daughter
On a bone-dry farm whose soil cried out for water
So my care was rough and ready, but they grew up fine and steady
But it's nearly over now, and now I'm easy
My daughter married young, and went her own way
My sons lie buried by the Burma Railway
So on this land I've made me home, I've carried on alone
But it's nearly over now, and now I'm easy
City folks these days despise the Cockie
Say with subsidies and dole, we've had it easy
But there's no drought or starving stock on a sewered suburban block
But it's nearly over now, and now I'm easy
For nearly sixty years, I've been a Cockie
Of droughts and fires and floods, I've lived through plenty
This country's dust and mud, have seen my tears and blood
But it's nearly over now, and now I'm easy
And now I'm easy
NOTES:
Cockie: Australian small-scale family farmer
'Gin ("Jen"): an Australian aboriginal woman
They came for him in the morning, an hour before dawning The pale white moon was waning in the African sky The cell door flew wide open, they stood looking at him He saw no mercy in their hearts, no pity in their eyes
As they took him and they bound him, tied his trembling hands behind him He felt his courage leave him, his manhood disappear His legs would not support him, so from the cell they dragged him He sobbed and screamed and cursed them in his loneliness and fear
Chains, chains, chains How many souls have died in freedom's name To some it is a way of life, to others just a word To some it is a snow-white dove, to some a bloody sword But until the last chains fall, freedom will make slaves of us all
With faces closed and hidden the white guards walked beside him Indifferent to his pleading - they'd been down this path before But other eyes were watching, other ears were listening Other hearts beat with him in his final desperate hour
From the darkness of that prison came the sound of his brothers singing Courage, their voices told him, you do not walk alone From their cells beyond the shadow he heard their voices echo As in love and pride and sorrow they sang his spirit home
Chains, chains, chains How many souls have died in freedom's name To some it is a way of life, to others just a word To some it is a snow-white dove, to some a bloody sword But until the last chains fall, freedom will make slaves of us all
And their song of hope and freedom, it rang inside that prison It beat against the iron bars and crashed against the stone As in their fear and hate they hung him, the last sound that filled his being Was his brothers singing, singing his spirit home
Romeo, has your star set Where are you Romeo? Lying with your Juliet In a field near Sarajevo The world your love tried to escape It could not let you go Conceived and born in blood and hate Too many wasted lives ago.
Romeo, has your star set Where are you Romeo? Lying with your Juliet In a field near Sarajevo Young hearts beating, hand in hand A dream to take or give Love walks into No Mans Land Where nothing moves or lives.
Outside m y door when I was young there fIowed a shining river GIeam ing in the sum m er sun it used to shine Iike siIver The banks were Iined with wiIIow trees and taII green waving rushes Song birds sang on sum m er breeze, and nested in the bushes
Chorus: Don't you think it's tim e we got together To save our shining river? It wiII soon be gone forever Don't you think it's tim e?
The wiIIow trees have Iong since gone the birds are getting fewer And where m y river used to run there's just an open sewer The banks are Iined with factories, grey towers of brick and m ortar There's sm og and dust on sum m er breeze and poison in the water
These days my life seems somehow like a tired old cliché
A bad movie scene that just goes on and on
With dialogue like " It's so sad how fast time slips away"
Or "You never really miss them until they're gone"
Funny how those old clichés come true
I never thought I'd miss him, but I do
My father died in summer, and all he left behind
Were little scraps of paper, little scraps of rhyme
I read them and felt something inside me break
And angrily cried out "Too late, too late!"
Surely there must be something better?
Surely there must be something better?
He and I were always strangers, searching for someone
I was looking for a hero, and he a friend
So while I searched for my father, he was looking for his son
So strangers we remained until the end
But the man who wrote his heart into those rhymes
I know he could have been a good friend of mine
My father died in summer, and all he left behind
Were little scraps of paper, little scraps of rhyme
I read them and felt something inside me break
And angrily cried out "Too late, too late!"
Surely there must be something better?
Surely there must be something better?
So I sit here where he lived and died as the ghosts around me weave
And evening shadows lengthen on the wall
And in this dark and empty room it's so easy to believe
That he never lived at all
But the little scraps of paper in my hand
Proved he lived to me - the father and the man
My father died in summer, and all he left behind
Were little scraps of paper, little scraps of rhyme
I read them and felt something inside me break
And angrily cried out "Too late, too late!"
Surely there must be something better?
"And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda"
- Eric Bogle
Now when I was a young man, I carried me pack, and I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback, well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915, my country said son, It's time you stopped rambling, there's work to be done.
So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun, and they marched me away to the war.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda, as the ship pulled away from the quay
And amidst all the cheers, the flag-waving and tears, we sailed off for Gallipoli
And how well I remember that terrible day, how our blood stained the sand and the water
And of how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay, we were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk he was waiting, he'd primed himself well. He shower'd us with bullets,
And he rained us with shell. 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.
And those that were left, well we tried to survive, in that mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive, though 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, well I wished I was dead. Never knew there was worse things than dyin'.
For I'll go no more waltzing Matilda, all around the green bush far and free
To hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs-no more waltzing Matilda for me.
So they gathered the crippled, 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 me legs used to be.
And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me, to grieve, to mourn, and to pity.
But the band played Waltzing Matilda, as they carried us down the gangway.
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared, then they turned all their faces away
And so now every April, I sit on me porch, and I watch the parades 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, old bones stiff and sore. They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, what are they marching for? And I ask myself the same question.
But the band plays Waltzing Matilda, and the old men still answer the call,
But as year follows year, more old men disappear. Someday 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 by that billabong, who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
***********************************************************************************************
NOTES:
"Matilda" - the backpack and associated gear used by livestock drovers and prospecters
in remote areas of the Australian outback.
"Swag" - canvas sleeping bag
"Billabong" - creek or estuary, generally with an outlet to the sea and containing more or less brackish water.
Historical Note:
The Gallipoli Campaign (April 25, 1915-January 8, 1916),
a major land and sea operation of World War I, in which
British, French, Australian, and New Zealand forces
unsuccessfully attempted an invasion of Turkey.
The action was confined to the Dardanelles Strait
and the tip of the Gallipoli (Gelibolu) Peninsula near
Istanbul. The purpose of the campaign, devised by British
munitions minister David Lloyd George, first lord of the
admiralty Winston Churchill, General Herbert H. Kitchener,
and Admiral Sackville H. Carden, was to open up a new
theater of war as an alternative to the stalemate in
France, to relieve Turkish pressure on Russian forces
in the Caucasus, and, by gaining control of Istanbul
and the straits, to provide a direct link with Russia
via the Black Sea. This campaign is also significant
for Australians in that it marked the first time a major
Australian military force was commanded by Australian,
instead of English, officers.
What initially was to be exclusively a naval operation
failed in February 1915 when several British and French
ships were damaged by floating mines. A land invasion was
then decided on, but it was not begun until late April.
An amphibious landing at that time was met with heavy
resistance by the Turks. Excessive caution and timorous
leadership by the British commander, Sir Ian Hamilton,
resulted in several lost initiatives. Little headway
was made beyond the several beachheads. In early August,
after three months of stalemate and stagnation on the
beaches, a new major offensive was begun. Once again,
however, the excessive caution and indifferent leadership
of the British command offset the effect of heavy
reinforcements. The Turkish forces, on the other hand, were
inspired by the leadership of Mustafa Kemal (Kemal Atatürk,
later president of Turkey) and the skill of their German
commander, Otto Liman von Sanders. After a few more months
of stalemate, Hamilton was replaced by Sir Charles Monro,
who was sent to evaluate the situation. Monro recommended
evacuation, and the allied forces were withdrawn in December
and January. British casualties were 205,000 out of 410,000;
the French sustained a rate of 47,000 out of 79,000; Turkish,
250,000 to 300,000 out of 500,000. The fiasco badly
stained the reputations of Churchill, Hamilton, and Kitchener.
Despite its overall failure, however, the Gallipoli campaign
weakened the Turks enough to facilitate the British seizure
of Palestine in 1917. The action also distracted the Germans
The saddest sound I've ever heard
Is the song of the hump-backed whale
His moans and sighs and his eerie cries
Sing a sad familiar tale
For he sighs and blows as if he knows
His race is nearly run
And that soon with all of his kind he'll fall
Before the whaler's gun.
For every living thing on earth
Nature made a space
Each a living strand of a fragile plan
That can never be replaced
And not from need, but from wanton greed
Man has torn down nature's web
With greed possessed he will not rest
Till the last of the whales is dead.
In my mind's eye I can see them die
As the whaler finds his mark
Hear the muffled boom of the cruel harpoon
As it blasts their lives apart
I see the flood of their rich dark blood
As it stains the ocean red
And that bloody green will not wash clean
Till the last of the whales is dead.
The saddest sound I've ever heard
Is the song of the hump-backed whale
His moans and sighs and his eerie cries
Sing a sad familiar tale
For he sighs and blows as if he knows
His race is nearly run
And that soon with all of his kind he'll fall
I (E)wish I was home again at (A)home in my heart again
It's (E)been a long time since my heart talked to (B)me(E)
Wastin' my precious days (A)wishin' my life away
If (E)wishes were fishes we'd all cast (B)nets in the (E)sea
Cho: And if (A)wishes were (B)fishes I (E)know where I'd (A)be(D)
Casting my net in the dark rolling (B)sea
And (A)if my net's (B)empty when it (E)comes back to (A)shore
I'll (E)throw it away and go fishing no (B)more.
And I wish I was young again my song still to be sung again
The sweet tunes of my life have gone sour and off key
Writin' my tired old rhymes tryin to turn back time
If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets in the sea
I wish I could care again reach out and share again
Mend whats been broken and let it run free
The older I get it seems the more wishin' takes the place of dreams
If wishes were fishes we'd all cast nets in the sea
Copyright Eric Bogle
Oh, I used to have a doggie and I called him little Gomez
Because he was a Mexican Chihuahua
Though there wasn't much to him what there was all cojones
In fact he was a randy little fella big dogs, small dogs were all the same to him
The canine equivalent of Errol Flynn
At the drop of a sombrero he'd jump up and get stuck in
Taking Gomez out for walkies was embarassin'
I remember one day in the park his tally rose by four
An enviable score he was amassing, two very patient poodles and an Irish Labrador
And a wombat who just happened to be passing
I tried every way to curb his carnal appetite
I kept him on a leash by day, I locked him up at night
I even put some bromide in his chunky meaty bites
But the only thing that might have worked was Kryptonite
Then came the fateful day when he tried to consummate
A liaison with a Saint Bernard from Dublin
And although he was quite clearly fighting well above his weight
He didn't let that minor detail stop him
He nearly pulled it off, oh, what an acrobat!
But the bitch got bored and down she sat
Well, they say that after making love you sometimes feel quite flat
I'm sure that little Gomez would agree with that
I buried Gomez in the park, his happy hunting ground a sad but fitting finale
Though I had to make a grave that was very flat and round
Cause he looked like squashed tamale
But oh, how I missed my wee Chihuahua chum
I went down to the pet shop to find another one
I went there feeling happy, but I left there feeling glum
Because the man behind the counter loved corny puns
And he said Yes, we have no Chihuahuas we have no Chihuahuas today
We have Alstations, Dalmatians, fruits of all flirtations,
An alpine Pekinese in a toupee
They (C)told all the (G)fine young (Am)men,(A2)(Am) (Dm) "Ah, when this war is (G)over, (G4) (G5) (C) There (G)will be (Am)peace,(A2)(Am) (Dm) And the peace will last for(G)ever." (C) In (G)Flan(F)ders (C)Fields,(C/B) (Am) At (Dm)Lone Pine and Ber(G)sheeba,(hold) For (C)king and (Dm)country, (C)Honour and for (F)duty, The (C)young men fought and (G)cursed and wept and (F)died. (hold)
They (C)told all the (G)fine young (Am)men,(A2)(Am) (Dm) "Ah, when this war is (G)over, (G4) (G5) In your (C)country´s (G)grateful (Am)heart(A2)(Am) (Dm) We will cherish you for(G)ever." To(C)bruk and (G)A(F)la(C)mein,(C/B) (Am) (Dm)Bhuna and Ko(G)koda,(hold) In a (C)world mad with (Dm)war, Like their (C)fathers be(F)fore, The (C)young men fought and (G)cursed and wept and (F)died. (hold) - Instrumental verse -
"And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda"
- Eric Bogle
Now when I was a young man, I carried me pack, and I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback, well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915, my country said son, It's time you stopped rambling, there's work to be done.
So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun, and they marched me away to the war.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda, as the ship pulled away from the quay
And amidst all the cheers, the flag-waving and tears, we sailed off for Gallipoli
And how well I remember that terrible day, how our blood stained the sand and the water
And of how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay, we were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk he was waiting, he'd primed himself well. He shower'd us with bullets,
And he rained us with shell. 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.
And those that were left, well we tried to survive, in that mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive, though 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, well I wished I was dead. Never knew there was worse things than dyin'.
For I'll go no more waltzing Matilda, all around the green bush far and free
To hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs-no more waltzing Matilda for me.
So they gathered the crippled, 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 me legs used to be.
And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me, to grieve, to mourn, and to pity.
But the band played Waltzing Matilda, as they carried us down the gangway.
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared, then they turned all their faces away
And so now every April, I sit on me porch, and I watch the parades 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, old bones stiff and sore. They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, what are they marching for? And I ask myself the same question.
But the band plays Waltzing Matilda, and the old men still answer the call,
But as year follows year, more old men disappear. Someday 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 by that billabong, who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
***********************************************************************************************
NOTES:
"Matilda" - the backpack and associated gear used by livestock drovers and prospecters
in remote areas of the Australian outback.
"Swag" - canvas sleeping bag
"Billabong" - creek or estuary, generally with an outlet to the sea and containing more or less brackish water.
Historical Note:
The Gallipoli Campaign (April 25, 1915-January 8, 1916),
a major land and sea operation of World War I, in which
British, French, Australian, and New Zealand forces
unsuccessfully attempted an invasion of Turkey.
The action was confined to the Dardanelles Strait
and the tip of the Gallipoli (Gelibolu) Peninsula near
Istanbul. The purpose of the campaign, devised by British
munitions minister David Lloyd George, first lord of the
admiralty Winston Churchill, General Herbert H. Kitchener,
and Admiral Sackville H. Carden, was to open up a new
theater of war as an alternative to the stalemate in
France, to relieve Turkish pressure on Russian forces
in the Caucasus, and, by gaining control of Istanbul
and the straits, to provide a direct link with Russia
via the Black Sea. This campaign is also significant
for Australians in that it marked the first time a major
Australian military force was commanded by Australian,
instead of English, officers.
What initially was to be exclusively a naval operation
failed in February 1915 when several British and French
ships were damaged by floating mines. A land invasion was
then decided on, but it was not begun until late April.
An amphibious landing at that time was met with heavy
resistance by the Turks. Excessive caution and timorous
leadership by the British commander, Sir Ian Hamilton,
resulted in several lost initiatives. Little headway
was made beyond the several beachheads. In early August,
after three months of stalemate and stagnation on the
beaches, a new major offensive was begun. Once again,
however, the excessive caution and indifferent leadership
of the British command offset the effect of heavy
reinforcements. The Turkish forces, on the other hand, were
inspired by the leadership of Mustafa Kemal (Kemal Atatürk,
later president of Turkey) and the skill of their German
commander, Otto Liman von Sanders. After a few more months
of stalemate, Hamilton was replaced by Sir Charles Monro,
who was sent to evaluate the situation. Monro recommended
evacuation, and the allied forces were withdrawn in December
and January. British casualties were 205,000 out of 410,000;
the French sustained a rate of 47,000 out of 79,000; Turkish,
250,000 to 300,000 out of 500,000. The fiasco badly
stained the reputations of Churchill, Hamilton, and Kitchener.
Despite its overall failure, however, the Gallipoli campaign
weakened the Turks enough to facilitate the British seizure
of Palestine in 1917. The action also distracted the Germans
from a plan they had in 1915 to begin another offensive in France.
I'm pleased to meet you, my name's Dan,
And I'm an honest working man
A tarnished badge, they tell me,
But it's one I wear with pride
A fair day's work for a fair day's pay,
I've always lived my life that way
But now I can't help thinking,
I've been taken for a ride
Those hard years on the factory floor,
Toilin' in the ceaseless roar,
That made me old before my time,
Wrecked my hearing and my health
And when I total up the cost,
What I've gained to what I've lost
I ask myself now Dan,
What's the total of your wealth?
Just how much is your life worth?
I live in a house I'll never own,
Could never get a housing loan
Bank managers and suchlike,
Don't rate the likes of me
Feeding three kids on a fitter's wage,
I've always found it hard to save
And being an honest working man
Don't count as equity
All those years of toil and sweat,
Climbing in and out of debt
I often look back on them
And ask myself for what?
A rented house on a grimy street
An endless fight to make ends meet
When you add it all together,
It don't seem like a lot
But it's all that I've got
But a man's life can't be judged alone
By what he has or what he owns
It's what he loves and cares for
That gives it quality
And what gives meaning to my life
Are my three kids and my wife
We've always stuck together,
Always being a family
Now my kids are rotting on the dole,
Holding out the beggar's bowl
I see the anger in their eyes,
It cuts me to the heart
And shall I simply stand aside
While my kids are slowly crucified?
Watch all I've worked and cared for
As it slowly falls apart
Well by Christ, I won't do that
I'm pleased to meet you, my name's Dan,
And I'm an honest working man
A tarnished badge, they tell me,
But it's one I wear with pride
A fair day's work for a fair day's pay,
I've always lived my life that way
But now I can't help thinking,
I've been taken for a ride
And though I ain't got much to spare,
What I have I'm going to share
To give my kids and other kids,
Some purpose, pride, and place
And you leeches, grown fat on my sweat,
I promise you I won't forget
When I asked you if you'd share the load,
You laughed right in my face
Yes, you laughed right in my face
I'm pleased to meet you, my name's Dan,
I'm a dicky-dye Australian guy and me name is Blooey Schmidt.
I love this sunburned country and I'm bloody proud of it
And I love our simple way of life and the things we all hold dear
Like V.F.L. and Big Ben Pies and foamin' Tueeze beer
I love our open friendliness where a man can make good mates
In fact in all Australia there's just one thing I hate:
I hate Wogs, they live like dogs
Some eat bananas and some eat frogs
Soome wear turbans some wear clogs
All the bloody same to me 'cause I hate Wogs.
They can't speak proper English and they never seem to learn
And the awful guff that they call food would make your stomach turn
It's always dipped in garlic sauce or fried in olive oil
I've never tasted any meself, but I bet it all tastes vile!
What's wrong with good Australian food, you Slovaks and you Poles?
Good healthy stuff like pie and sauce and chips and chigger rolls
'Cause I hate Wogs, they live like dogs
Some eat bananas and some eat frogs
Soome wear turbans some wear clogs
All the bloody same to me 'cause I hate Wogs.
And the local chip shop down the street is run by a bloody Greek
He's open sixteen hours a day and seven days a week
And every cent that you spend there on a pie or on dumsim
Helps to send back home to Greece for a bastard just like him!
Oh, I never eat there meself 'cause I couldn't touch Wog meat
I usually eat at the Chinese caf' that's just across the street!
'Cause I hate Wogs, they live like dogs
Some eat bananas and some eat frogs
Soome wear turbans some wear clogs
All the bloody same to me 'cause I hate Wogs.
I was queueing down at the Registry, a-pickin' up me dole
In front of me was a Yugoslav, in front of him a Pole
Behind me was a Eyetalian, behind him was a Turk
Those lazy migrant bastards do, they never bloody work!
But in spite of what the papers say, there's work for those who want to
The wife and twenty-seven kids is all the work I'm going to!
'Cause I hate Wogs, they live like dogs
Some eat bananas and some eat frogs
Soome wear turbans some wear clogs
All the bloody same to me 'cause I hate Wogs.
So send the bastards home to Spain, and Italy and Greece
And maybe when they've all gone home, we'll get some bloody peace
To sit in the shade of the killabar tree and drink beer all day long
And run amok with a flat-bed truck, down by the billabong
And every night at twelve o'clock to show that we're not slaggards
Somebody's moggy by the side of the road
Somebody's pussy who forgot his highway code
Someone's favorite feline who ran clean out of luck
When he ran on to the road and tried to argue with a truck
Yesterday he purred and played in his pussy paradise
Decapitating tweety birds and masticating mice
Now he's just six pounds of raw mincemeat that don't smell very nice
He's nobody's moggy now.
All you who love your pussy be sure to keep him in
Don't let him argue with a truck, the truck is bound to win
And upon the busy road, don't let him play or frolic
If you do I'm warning you it could be CATastrophic
If he tries to play on the roadway, I'm afraid that will be that
There will be one last despairing MEOW! and a sort of squelchy splat
And your pussy will be slightly dead and very, very flat
He's nobody's moggy, just red and squashed and soggy
"Plastic Paddy"
-Eric Bogle
Hup! dee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee dah
Hup! dee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee dah
Hup! dee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee dah
Hup! dee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee dah
Hup! dee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee diddle-ee dah
He's just a Plastic Paddy, singin' Plastic Paddy songs
in a Plastic Paddy pub that they call The Blarny Stone
There's plastic shamrocks everywhere, there's Guinness and green beer
And a sign in gaelic above the bar which says "God Bless All Here"
His guitar sounds like a wardrobe, and it's out of tune at that
His singin' voice it ranges from a sharp to a flat
He's just desecrated "The Holy Ground", ripped apart "Black Velvet Band"
Sang some nights drunk and now he's sunk "The Irish Rover" with all hands
'Cause he's just a Plastic Paddy, singin' Plastic Paddy songs
in a Plastic Paddy pub that they call The Blarny Stone
The publican's a proddy Scot by the name of McIntyre
Who does not allow collections for the men behind the wire
He's done awful things to "Molly Malone" and "The Farrows of Tralee"
He's murdered "Carach Fergus" and poor old "Mother Machree"
He's just thrashed his way through "Galway Bay" and "The Wild Irish Rose"
and if he starts singing "Danny Boy", I'm gonna punch him in the nose!
He's just a Plastic Paddy, singin' Plastic Paddy songs
in a Plastic Paddy pub that they call The Blarny Stone
There's Aer Lingus posters everywhere showing pretty Irish scenes
all peaceful and idyllic, and very bloody green!
"When Irish Eyes are Smiling" and "The Mountains of Mourne"
In a central Celtic chiché, the man has left no stone unturned
'Til he embarks upon the harp that once through terraced halls
Accompanying himself on the Bodhrán, which takes a lot of courage
'Cause he's just a Plastic Paddy, singin' Plastic Paddy songs
in a Plastic Paddy pub that they call The Blarny Stone
Now he's just sung in his mother tongue, "The Ancient Irish Curse"
and cleared the pub completely by the forty-second verse!
'Cause he's just a Plastic Paddy, singin' Plastic Paddy songs
He's started singin' "Danny Boy", so it's time that I was gone
and just one thought comes to my mind, as I stagger through the door
Where are you when we need you, Christy Moore?
Where are you when we need you, Christy Moore?
*************
I Hate Wogs-Eric BogleI'm a dicky-dye Australian guy and me name is Blooey Schmidt.I love this sunburned country and I'm bloody proud of itAnd I love our simple way of life and the things we all hold dearLike V.F.L. and Big Ben Pies and foamin' Tueeze beerI love our open friendliness where a man can make good matesIn fact in all Australia there's just one thing I hate:I hate Wogs, they live like dogsSome eat bananas and some eat frogsSoome wear turbans some wear clogsAll the bloody same to me 'cause I hate Wogs.They can't speak proper English and they never seem to learnAnd the awful guff that they call food would make your stomach turnIt's always dipped in garlic sauce or fried in olive oilI've never tasted any meself, but I bet it all tastes vile!What's wrong with good Australian food, you Slovaks and you Poles?Good healthy stuff like pie and sauce and chips and chigger rolls'Cause I hate Wogs, they live like dogsSome eat bananas and some eat frogsSoome wear turbans some wear clogsAll the bloody same to me 'cause I hate Wogs.And the local chip shop down the street is run by a bloody GreekHe's open sixteen hours a day and seven days a weekAnd every cent that you spend there on a pie or on dumsimHelps to send back home to Greece for a bastard just like him!Oh, I never eat there meself 'cause I couldn't touch Wog meatI usually eat at the Chinese caf' that's just across the street!'Cause I hate Wogs, they live like dogsSome eat bananas and some eat frogsSoome wear turbans some wear clogsAll the bloody same to me 'cause I hate Wogs.I was queueing down at the Registry, a-pickin' up me doleIn front of me was a Yugoslav, in front of him a PoleBehind me was a Eyetalian, behind him was a TurkThose lazy migrant bastards do, they never bloody work!But in spite of what the papers say, there's work for those who want toThe wife and twenty-seven kids is all the work
"SOMETHING OF VALUE"
-Eric Bogle
I can see the Southern Cross tonight
While here below, bathed in it's light
The Dreamtime land safe, snug and tight is sleeping
Wrapped in complacency and contentedness
No discordant sounds disturb our rest
While the gentle souls we've dispossesed are weeping
We took it all by the gun and the sword
By the right of our race and in the name of our God
Though as outcasts ourselves, transported, condemned
None knew better than we the injustice of men
We took it all in our hunger and need
Enslaved by our past and consumed by our greed
And left them to beg for the scraps at our door
While we called them drunkards and wasters and whores
They've been drowning, drowning in their tears
for the last two hundread years
From England's New Jerusalem
to the Dreamtime land the tall ships came
with human cattle in convict chains to bind them
In the grim fight just to stay alive
Dreams must struggle to survive
Few could see the glitt'ring prize before them
We had it all in the palm of our hand
A new hope, a new dream, a new life, a new land
One last chance to break from the chains of the past
To build something of value, build something to last
This ancient land was a vast empty page
Waiting for the great writers of a brand new age
The future was ours to protect or profane
A paradise lost, a paradise gained
Now tell me, is paradise here,
after two hundred years?
So now, beneath the Southern Cross
it's time to tally up the cost
of what we've gained and what we've lost forever
Though much has gone we can't replace
Those of us who love this place
Together now, must turn and face the future
So here's to us all, we're frail humankind
who wander through life mostly helpless and blind
To our courage and cowardice, our humor and pain
Our hundred steps forward, ninety-nine back again
Yes here's to us all, the wise and the fools
The indifferent, the caring, the kind and the cruel
As we march to the beat of an uncertain drum
Stumbling towards what we may yet become
Towards the brave new frontiers,
When I was in my prenticeship and learning of my trade,
I courted my master's daughter, which made my heart right glad.
I courted her both summers days and winter nights also
But I never could her favor win till I hired the Bogle Bo.
Day being gone, and night coming on, my neighbor he took a sheet
And straight into her room he went just like a wandering spirit.
She went (went) running up and down, not knowing where to go
But right into my bed she went for fear of the Bogle Bo.
And so my true love and me, (we both) fell fast asleep,
But ere the morn at fair daylight, sore, sore did she weep
Sore, sore did she weep; sore, sore did she mourn
But ere she rose and put on her clothes, the Bogle bo was gone.
You've done the thing to me last night, the thing you cannot shun
You've taen from me my maidenhead, and I am quite undone.
You've taen from me my maidenhead, and brought my body low
But, kind sir, if you'll marry me, I will be your jo.
Now he's married her and taen her hame, and it was but his part
She's proved to him a loving wife, and joy of all his heart;
He never told her of the joke, nor ne'er intends to do
But aye when his wife smiles on him, he minds the Bogle bo.
Note: Foggy Dew variant; Collected by John Bell (1783- ??);
Printed in Lloyd's Folk Song in England. Lloyd suggests that the
Mysterious "foggy dew" of later versions is a corruption of this
One: in any case, it makes for a reasonable explanation, and this
Version tells a good story. LLoyd doesn't give a tune, but it
Fits nicely to th "Banks and Braes" version of Foggy Dew" Words
In parentheses were inserted by RG to attempt scansion. RG
I've hear them liltin', at the ewe milkin,'
Lasses a-liltin' before dawn of day.
Now there's a moanin', on ilka green loanin'.
The flowers of the forest are a' wede away.
As boughs in the mornin', nae blithe lads are scornin',
Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae.
Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighin' and sobbin',
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her away.
At e'en in the gloamin', nae swankies are roamin',
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play.
But ilk maid sits drearie, lamentin' her dearie,
The flowers of the forest are a' wede away.
In har'st at the shearin' nae youths now are jeerin'
Bandsters are runkled, and lyart, or grey.
At fair or at preachin', nae wooin', nae fleecin',
The flowers of the forest are a' wede away.
Dool for the order sent our lads to the Border,
the English for ance by guile wan the day.
The flowers of the forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime of our land lie cauld in the clay.
We'll hae nae mair liltin', at the ewe milkin',
Women and bairns are heartless and wae.
Sighin' and moanin' on ilka green loanin',
"Welcome Home"
-Eric Bogle
Now when the boys came home, Annie cried and Annie cheered
She'd been on her own for a long and lonely year
Living for his letters from far away Vietnam
And dreading the official telegram
So she was waiting at the station when his train came rolling in
She ached with anticipation of holding him again
And suddenly he was standing there in his crumpled uniform
In a heartbeat she was in his arms
Welcome home, boys, welcome home
Don't you know, you've been gone too long
Did you wonder, over there,
when you were tired, when you were scared,
If your country really cared, welcome home
When a nation goes to war, everyone's a casualty
Some are maimed and scarred, most have wounds you cannot see
So in place of the man that she had known,
Annie found instead, a sick and troubled stranger in her bed
But she was stubborn, she was lovin', so she stayed all through the years
The hard times and the drinking, the nightmares and the tears
For where hate is muddy quicksand, love is tempered steel
Annie waited for his wounds to heal
Welcome home, boys, welcome home
Don't you know, you've been gone too long
We're just so glad that you're alive
And only you will wonder why
You lived when others died, welcome home
So on a sunny Sydney morning, I heard old war drums beat
and watched the boys come marching, down the city street*
To claim their place in the nation's heart
that their blood and pain had earned
A nation that rejoiced in their return
And if the day helped to heal some wounds is a matter of debate
For some it had come none too soon, for others far too late
But I found myself hoping, as the boys went marching past
That for them the war was over, at last
Welcome home, boys, welcome home
Don't you know, you've been gone too long
What you went through in Vietnam, we can't begin to understand
But to each and every man, welcome home
Welcome home, boys, welcome home
Don't you know, you've been gone too long
May the years bring you release, as the memories decrease
May you find some kind of peace, welcome home
May you find some kind of peace, welcome home
***********************
NOTES:
ANZAC Day Parade. ANZAC Day is Australia's version of
(Murray/Harris/Dickinson)
When I was wandering in the desert
And was searching for the truth
I heard a choir of angels calling out my name
I had the feeling that my life would never be the same again
I turned my face towards the barren sun
And I know of the pain that you feel the same as me
And I dream of the rain as it falls upon the leaves
And the cracks in our lives like the cracks upon the ground
They are sealed and are now washed away
[Chorus:]
You tell me we can start the rain
You tell me that we all can change
You tell me we can find something to wash the tears away
You tell me we can start the rain
You tell me that we all can change
You tell me we can find something to wash the tears.....
[3rd verse:]
And I know of the pain that you feel the same as me
And I dream of the rain as it falls upon the leaves
And the cracks in the ground like the cracks are in our lives
They are sealed and now far away
[Chorus]
[3rd verse]
In comes the train, and the whole platform shakes,
it stops with a shudder, and a screaming of brakes,
my leaving has come and my weary soul aches,
i'm leaving my nancy o.
You stand there beside me determinedly gay,
we talk of the weather and events of the day,
but your eyes tell me all that your lips would'nt say,
goodbye my nancy o.
cho.
So come a little closer,
put your head upon my shoulder,
and let me hold you one more time,
goodbye my nancy o.
My suitcase is lifted and stoad on the train,
a thousand regrets whirl around in my
brain,
the ache in my heart is a black sea of pain,
i'm leaving my nancy o.
You stand there before me so lovely to see,
the grip of your hand is an unspoken plea,
you're not fooling yourself, and your're not fooling me,
goodbye my nancy o.
cho.
Our time has run out and the whistle has blown,
and here i must leave you standing alone,
we had so little time and now the times gone,
i'm leaving my nancy o.
And as the train starts gently to roll,
and as i lean out for to wave and to call,
i see the first tears trickling forth,
goodbye my nancy o.
1. Well, how'd you do, Private William McBride?
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside?
I'll rest here awhile in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day, Lord, and I'm nearly done.
And I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916--
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean,
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?
Chorus:
Did they beat the drum slowly,
Did they sound the fife lowly,
Did the rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sing "The Last Post" in chorus?
Did the pipes play "The Flowers of the Forest?"
2. Did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind?
Now i'm drowning in the sunshine as it falls down from the sky
there's something stirring in my heart, bright colours fill my eyes
it's from here to the far horizon your beauty does unfold
and oh, you look so lovely, dressed in green and gold
I can almost touch the ocean, shimmering in the distant haze
as i stand here on this mountain on this loveliest of days
around half the world i've drifted, left no wild oats unsown
but now my view has shifted and i think i've just come home
To the homeless and the hungry, may we always open doors
may the restless and the weary find safe harbour on our shores
may you always be our dreamtime place, a spirit's glad release
may you always be our shelter, may we always live in peace
Now i'm drowning in the sunshine as it falls down from the sky
there's something stirring in my heart, bright colours fill my eyes
it's from here to the far horizon your beauty does unfold
Do you remember the day that if you said that you were gay,
It meant with joy, you could sing and shout?
A fairy was enchanting, and dressing up and camping,
Was something you did with the scouts.
That caee age when an urgent case of aids,
Was powdered milk we sent to the Sahara.
A fruit was something nice to eat, a poof was something for your feet,
And a queen was an old tart in a tiara.
Ah, look what we've done to the old mother tongue,
It's a crime the way we've misused it.
It's been totally diswoggled, crumbed, and blonged and golly-woggled,
And we've strangled, fangled, mangled and abused it.
Ah, those far off times when a bong meant a chime,
And a buzz was a noise insecticidal,
A joint was something between bones, and getting really stoned,
Only happened to bad people in the Bible.
When if you had a bad trip, it meant you fell and broke your hip,
Cold turkey just meant Christmas at Aunt Dottie's
Coke was something that you burned, smack was something that you earned,
From your mumzie wumzie when you had been naughty.
Ah, look what we've done to the old mother tongue,
It's a crime the way we've misused it.
It's been totally diswoggled, crumbed, and blonged and golly-woggled,
And we've strangled, fangled, mangled and abused it.
The years have gone I'm afraid, when only eggs got laid,
And only the rhinoceros got horny.
Only kangaroos jumped, and only camels humped,
Getting stuffed meant a little taxidermy.
Swinging was for trapezes, or Tarzan's chimpanzees
Tossing off was something Scotland did with cabers.
Now it means something quite obscene,
And heavy ugly scene is any movie starring Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Ah, look what we've done to the old mother tongue,
It's a crime the way we've misused it.
It's been totally diswoggled, crumbed, and blonged and golly-woggled,
And we've strangled, fangled, mangled and abused it.
Ah, look what we've done to the old mother tongue,
It's a crime the way we've misused it.
It's been totally diswoggled, crumbed, and blonged and golly-woggled,
And we've strangled, fangled, mangled and abused it.
They're only words, and words are what we use,
Poor Jacky's on the street with his bottle of grog. Hard, hard times. He'll try and bite you for a couple of bob. Hard, hard times. Wrecked and drowning in a sea of grog, His pride and self-respect's been robbed, Worse off than a white man's dog, Hard, hard times.
CHORUS: And it's hard times livin' in the lucky country, Hard, hard times. Black man say, "Poor fella, my country". Hard, hard times.
The spirits have fled from the rocks and trees, Hard, hard times, The land is sick from white man's disease, Hard, hard times. Their lust and greed does them betray. They rape the land to make it pay. The black man just got in their way, Hard, hard times.
Well, old friend, here I am, I told you I'd be back. And as usual mate, I'm bloody late; it's 75 years down the track. For the last time here I stand in this familiar foreign land. Back with the mates I left behind, fixed forever in their time.
And all the men and of all the boys who haunt this lonely place Only one of them wears your cheery grin & your Queensland joker's face But I drown in all the bloody dreams of helpless young men's dying screams I feel your hand give my arm a shake & your voice say "steady, mate"
And the country that you died for, mate, you would not know it now The future that we dreamed of, mate, got all twisted up somehow The peace that we were fighting for, the end to stupid senseless war So it couldn't happen to our kids - well old mate, it did.
Been watching the days of my life rolling by Been taking for granted each precious one But yesterday our sorrows they fled Realised how small my world had become Sandy's arms wrapped tight around her waist I saw a new world in Rosie's eyes shine Heard her laugh with delight and saw the joy in her face Tried to recall when it last shone in mine
The miracles come both great and small The smallest can be the greatest of all
Sandy's wheelchair flew at breakneck speed A full five miles an hour down the drive Rosie danced on Sandy's knees Shouting out her joy at being alive And all of us there on that sunny afternoon Who watched her small miracle unfold Heard the echo in our hearts of creation's joyful tune That sings in each and every human soul
Miracles come both great and small The smallest can be the greatest of all
Been watching the days of my life rolling by Been taking for granted each precious one But yesterday our sorrows they fled Realised how small my world had become We spend our lives seeing only what we want to see But never think of ourselves as blind We start our lives trying to be what others want us to be Never see ourselves as crippled or confined
But of all the people there that I knew Rosie was the only one who flew
Hush wee babby, for yer daddy's comin' in Stumblin' up the stair and missin' every yin Rotten wi' beer and stinkin' o' gin He's drunk again -- as usual
Oh my God, it's a weary, weary life Who wid be a drinkin' man's wife Who wid thole a' this trouble and this strife Who but a silly woman
Hush wee babby, he's comin' in the door Drunken big feet are skitin' over the floor He's had a bucket, but he's thirstin' for more He disnae ken when he's beaten
Hush wee babby, listen tae him sittin' there Wi his bloodshot eyes and his tangled hair Mooth fu' o' big talk and eyes fu' o' despair And blaming me -- as usual
Hush wee babby, yer daddy's gone tae bed The morn he'll no' remember a' the things he said But his tongue wis sharp and a' the wounds they bled But then I'm used tae bleedin'
D)It's time to go (Bm)Jenny (D)No need to close the (Bm)door (D)What if the (F#m)dust gets (G)in the house it doesn't (D)matter any(G)more (A)You and the dust have (A7)been at war for (D)far too many (A)years (E)Well now the war is over Jenny (A)dear -Bm-A-Bm-A
Chorus (D)Lea--(F#m)--(Bm)--(G)ving the (D)land -F#m-Bm-G (D)Lea--(F#m)--(Bm)--(G)ving the (D)land -F#m-Bm-G-G (G)Leaving all I've (A)ever been and (D)every thing I (G)am (D)Leaving--(F#m)--(Bm)--(G)the (D)land -F#m-Bm-G
(D)Remember when I (Bm)brought you here (D)Those long bright years a(Bm)go (D)For all that (F#m)time you've (G)been my heart but this (D)land has been my (G)soul (A)The long bright days are (A7)over now though (D)still the heart beats (A)on (E)But Jenny dear the soul has (A)gone -Bm-A-Bm-A
Chorus Bridge G-G-A-A D-D-G-G D-F#m-Bm-G D-F#m-Bm-G
(D)And all I see a(Bm)round me (D)Seems to me of the (Bm)best (D)For gene(F#m)rations (G)loved this land- never (D)thought I'd be the (G)last All that (A)toiling, all that (A7)dreaming, birth and (D)death in joy and (A)pain (E)It was all for nothing, all in (A)vain -Bm-A-Bm-A Chorus
(D)It's time to go (Bm)Jenny (D)Drive quickly down the (Bm)track (D)We'll never (F#m)see what (G)lies ahead if we (D)keep on looking (G)back (A)Behind is just an (A7)empty house, old (D)memories and (A)ghosts (E)And our small dreams gathering (A)dust -Bm-A-Bm-A
It's as if he knows He's standing close to me His breath warm on my sleeve His head hung low It's as if he knows What the dawn will bring The end of everything For my old Banjo And all along the picket lines beneath the desert sky The Light Horsemen move amongst their mates to say one last goodbye And the horses stand so quietly Row on silent row It's as if they know
Time after time We rode through shot and shell We rode in and out of Hell On their strong backs Time after time They brought us safely through By their swift sure hooves And their brave hearts Tomorrow we will form up ranks and march down to the quay And sail back to our loved ones in that dear land across the sea While our loyal and true companions Who asked so little and gave so much Will lie dead in the dust.
For the orders came No horses to return We were to abandon them To be slaves After all we'd shared And all that we'd been through A Nation's gratitude Was a dusty grave For we can't leave them to the people here, we'd rather see them dead So each man will take his best mate's horse with a bullet through the head For the people here are like their land Wild and cruel and hard So Banjo, here's your reward.
When I need to feel you near me I stand in this quiet place Where the silver light of countless stars Falling on my face Though they all shine so brightly Somehow it comforts me to know That some that burn the brightest Died an eternity ago
Chorus But your light still shines It's one small star to guide me And it helps me to hold back the dark Your light's still shining in my heart
I'm learning how to live without you And I never thought I could And even how to smile again I never thought I would And I cherish your heart's memories Cause they bring you back to life Some caress me gently And some cut me like a knife
Chorus
Can your soul be out there some where Beyond the infinity of time I guess you've found some answers now I'll have to wait for mine When my light joins with yours one day We'll shine through time and space And one day fall on a distant age Upon some stranger's face
Did you think that we'd forget you m ate W ith the sIow m arch of the years? That as tim e passed we'd wipe the sIate Of your sorrow and your tears? Did you think we'd scorn your sacrifice And find no honour in the debt? W hen your Iives paid our freedom 's price How then couId we forget?
And that's the Diggers' Iegacy The freedom we hoId yet W e never can repay them And we never shouId forget
Did you think we'd take for granted AII you fought to keep aIive? That the seeds your courage pIanted W ouId struggIe to survive? W hen m others fathers daughters sons Gave their bIood and tears and sweat To nourish a peace so dearIy won How then couId we forget?
"The Sign"
-Eric Bogle
In the summer of last year, in a city* far from here
That stands on the shores of the fair Pacific sea
I walked it's pleasant streets, no view in mind, no one to meet
Content to wander where my aimless feet led me
A few streets from my hotel, I passed an old stone wall
where three words had been scrawled by an unknown hand
When I read them I stopped dead, in disbelief I shook my head
For the words on that wall read, "Free Bobby Sands"
As the sun began to fall, and the day began to die
Thought I heard the wild geese call, from a dark and empty sky
For long minutes I stood there, in that busy thoroughfare
While the past rose sharp and clear in my mind's eye
I saw it all again, the passion, hate, and pain
the indifference and the shame as a young man died
But it was all so long ago, and who now cares or knows
why Bobby Sands chose his lonely death?
But to the one who wrote that sign,
it seems that Bobby's light still shines
The words rang from another time,
but the paint was fresh
As the sun began to fall, and the day began to die
Thought I heard the wild geese call, from a dark and empty sky
So I went down to the sea, to let it's wild song comfort me
But my thoughts would not let me be, and unchecked they ran
Through my future, present, and past,
not for the first time nor the last
I heard them ask, "Could you be the kind of man
who would gladly sacrifice everything, even life
and put no price on a cause, or an ideal?"
No answer echoed in my heart, so I turned and I walked back
through the twilight's deepening dark, to my hotel.
****************
Historical Note:
Bobby Sands, MP, was imprisoned in 1981 under criminal charges
stemming from his alleged involvement in IRA terrorist activities
in Ulster Province (Northern Ireland). Mr. Sands, along with
20 other alleged IRA members in prison awaiting trial, went
on a hunger strike to protest inhumane conditions in the prison, and to
have the IRA members reclassified as "political prisoners".
The hunger strike lasted more than 60 days, resulting in the deaths
of many of the prisoners, of which Mr. Sands was the first to succumb.
*Auckland, New Zealand
"Ibrahim"
-Eric Bogle
(Album: The Colour of Dreams)
Hey Ibrahim, tell me what do you think of Australia?
Do our beautiful desert sunsets fill you with wonder?
As the sky catches fire, and the trees and the mountains change colour
But I guess the view from this side of the barbed-wire's much better
So Ibrahim, can you tell me, why did you come here?
What dream were you chasing and what did you hope to find here?
Did you flee from your own native land because your life was in danger?
Or were the reasons much more mundane, just poverty and hunger?
Wrong path, wrong choice, wrong creed, wrong culture
Wrong place, wrong time, wrong dream and wrong colour
You see Ibrahim, there's something I've been meaning to tell you
Being hungry and poor bestows no special status upon you
We won't send you back, if you can prove they'd imprison or kill you
But if you're just going back home to starve, I'm afraid we can't help you
You see Ibrahim, you've become a bit of a problem
This world's full of refugees fleeing poverty, war and oppression
So to take in queue-jumpers like you, well it's out of the question
It would give the world's hungry and poor the wrong impression
Wrong path, wrong choice, wrong creed, wrong culture
Wrong place, wrong time, wrong dream and wrong colour
I'm afraid Ibrahim, it's time to be totally candid
You had Buckley's chance* right from the moment you landed
Already to many a threat and a danger you were branded
And all because you follow the prophet Mohammed
You didn't count Ibrahim, on political opportunism
Our leaders knew that to many Australians, the very word "Muslim"
Meant Al-Quaeda, Hammas, the Taliban, and terrorism
And that's why you and your family are locked up in prison.
Wrong path, wrong choice, wrong creed, wrong culture
Wrong place, wrong time, wrong dream and wrong colour
So Ibrahim, tell me what do you think of Australia?
Do our beautiful desert sunsets fill you with wonder?
As the sky catches fire, and the trees and the mountains change colour
But I guess the view from this side of the barbed-wire's much better
Yes I guess the view from this side of the barbed-wire's much better
*****************************************
NOTE:
"Buckley's Chance" - Australian colloquialism meaning "no chance whatsoever".
The phrase came into use in the 1890's, although it's origins are now uncertain.
Somebody's moggy by the side of the road
Somebody's pussy who forgot his highway code
Someone's favorite feline who ran clean out of luck
When he ran on to the road and tried to argue with a truck
Yesterday he purred and played in his pussy paradise
Decapitating tweety birds and masticating mice
Now he's just six pounds of raw mincemeat that don't smell very nice
He's nobody's moggy now.
All you who love your pussy be sure to keep him in
Don't let him argue with a truck, the truck is bound to win
And upon the busy road, don't let him play or frolic
If you do I'm warning you it could be CATastrophic
If he tries to play on the roadway, I'm afraid that will be that
There will be one last despairing MEOW! and a sort of squelchy splat
And your pussy will be slightly dead and very, very flat
He's nobody's moggy, just red and squashed and soggy
He's nobody's moggy now
The days of m y Iife I've been quite seIf-contained I don't feeI m uch joy, but then I don't feeI m uch pain There's nothing as safe as a coId seIfish heart But now m y defences have been bIasted apart By the sweet core of Iife that does gIow In m y Iady from Bendigo
Chorus: Speak to m e, taIk to m e, teII m e you Iove m e Give m y Iife purpose, show m e the way Reach for m e, touch m e, give m e your body And as for tom orrow, we'II Iive it today W iII you com e when I caII, wiII you go? M y Iady from Bendigo
This is your Iove song and I wrote it for you The words m ay sound sim pIe but you know they are true W hen I wrote them I m eant them and I m ean them stiII You know that I Iove you and I aIways wiII And if you Iove m e Iet it show M y Iady from Bendigo
WEE DARK ENGINE ROOM
(G) C G7 C G / G C F G7 C / C G7 C F C G C G / C F C F C
In that wee dark engine room,
Where the chill seeps through your soul,
How we huddled round that wee pot stove
That burned oily rags and coal.
C F C G7 G /
How the winter blizzards blow, and the whaling fleet's at rest,
Tucked in Leigh harbor's sheltered bay, safely anchored ten abreast.
The whalers at their stations, as from she'd to she'd they go,
Carry little bags of coal with them, and a little iron stove.
CHORUS
The fireman Paddy worked with me on the engine stiff and cold.
A stranger to the truth was he - there's not a lie he hasn't told.
And he boasted of his gold mine, and of all the hearts he'd won,
And his bonny sense of humor shone just like a ray of sun.
CHORUS
Then one day we saw the sun and factory ships' return.
Meet your old friends, sing a song; hope the season won't be long,
Then homeward bound when it's over; we'll leave this icy hold,
But I always will remember that little iron stove.
When the summer sun is shining on Australia's happy land
Round countless fires, in strange attire in many solemn bands
Of glum Australians watching as the lunch goes up in flames
By the smoke and the smell you can plainly tell, that it's barby time again
When the steaks are burning fiercely, when the smoke gets in your eyes
When the snacks all taste like fried toothpaste and your mouth is full of flies
It's a national institution, it's Australian through and through
So come on mate and grab your plate, let's have a barbeque!
The Scots eat lots of haggis, the French eat snails and frogs
The Greeks throw kakis on their mousakis, and the Chinese love hot dogs
The Welshmen love to have a leek, the Irish like thier stew
But you just can't beat that half-cooked meat at an Aussie barbeque
When the steaks are burning fiercely, when the smoke gets in your eyes
When the snacks all taste like fried toothpaste and your mouth is full of flies
It's a national institution, it's Australian through and through
So come on mate and grab your plate, let's have a barbeque
There's flies stuck to the margarine, the bread has gone rock hard
The kids are fighting and the mossies are biting, who forgot the ___ again?
There's bull ants in the eskie, and the beer is running out
And what you saw in Mom's cole slaw, you just don't think about
When the steaks are burning fiercely, when the smoke gets in your eyes
When the snacks all taste like fried toothpaste and your mouth is full of flies
It's a national institution, it's Australian through and through
So come on mate and grab your plate, let's have a barbeque
And when the barby's over and your homeward way you wend
With a queezy tummy on the family dummy, many lonely hours you'll spend
You might find yourself reflecting, like many often do
Come rain or shine that's the bloody last time that you'll have a barbeque!
When the steaks are burning fiercely, when the smoke gets in your eyes
When the snacks all taste like fried toothpaste and your mouth is full of flies
It's a national institution, it's Australian through and through
"And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda"
- Eric Bogle
Now when I was a young man, I carried me pack, and I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback, well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915, my country said son, It's time you stopped rambling, there's work to be done.
So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun, and they marched me away to the war.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda, as the ship pulled away from the quay
And amidst all the cheers, the flag-waving and tears, we sailed off for Gallipoli
And how well I remember that terrible day, how our blood stained the sand and the water
And of how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay, we were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk he was waiting, he'd primed himself well. He shower'd us with bullets,
And he rained us with shell. 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.
And those that were left, well we tried to survive, in that mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive, though 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, well I wished I was dead. Never knew there was worse things than dyin'.
For I'll go no more waltzing Matilda, all around the green bush far and free
To hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs-no more waltzing Matilda for me.
So they gathered the crippled, 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 me legs used to be.
And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me, to grieve, to mourn, and to pity.
But the band played Waltzing Matilda, as they carried us down the gangway.
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared, then they turned all their faces away
And so now every April, I sit on me porch, and I watch the parades 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, old bones stiff and sore. They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, what are they marching for? And I ask myself the same question.
But the band plays Waltzing Matilda, and the old men still answer the call,
But as year follows year, more old men disappear. Someday 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 by that billabong, who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
***********************************************************************************************
NOTES:
"Matilda" - the backpack and associated gear used by livestock drovers and prospecters
in remote areas of the Australian outback.
"Swag" - canvas sleeping bag
"Billabong" - creek or estuary, generally with an outlet to the sea and containing more or less brackish water.
Historical Note:
The Gallipoli Campaign (April 25, 1915-January 8, 1916),
a major land and sea operation of World War I, in which
British, French, Australian, and New Zealand forces
unsuccessfully attempted an invasion of Turkey.
The action was confined to the Dardanelles Strait
and the tip of the Gallipoli (Gelibolu) Peninsula near
Istanbul. The purpose of the campaign, devised by British
munitions minister David Lloyd George, first lord of the
admiralty Winston Churchill, General Herbert H. Kitchener,
and Admiral Sackville H. Carden, was to open up a new
theater of war as an alternative to the stalemate in
France, to relieve Turkish pressure on Russian forces
in the Caucasus, and, by gaining control of Istanbul
and the straits, to provide a direct link with Russia
via the Black Sea. This campaign is also significant
for Australians in that it marked the first time a major
Australian military force was commanded by Australian,
instead of English, officers.
What initially was to be exclusively a naval operation
failed in February 1915 when several British and French
ships were damaged by floating mines. A land invasion was
then decided on, but it was not begun until late April.
An amphibious landing at that time was met with heavy
resistance by the Turks. Excessive caution and timorous
leadership by the British commander, Sir Ian Hamilton,
resulted in several lost initiatives. Little headway
was made beyond the several beachheads. In early August,
after three months of stalemate and stagnation on the
beaches, a new major offensive was begun. Once again,
however, the excessive caution and indifferent leadership
of the British command offset the effect of heavy
reinforcements. The Turkish forces, on the other hand, were
inspired by the leadership of Mustafa Kemal (Kemal Atatürk,
later president of Turkey) and the skill of their German
commander, Otto Liman von Sanders. After a few more months
of stalemate, Hamilton was replaced by Sir Charles Monro,
who was sent to evaluate the situation. Monro recommended
evacuation, and the allied forces were withdrawn in December
and January. British casualties were 205,000 out of 410,000;
the French sustained a rate of 47,000 out of 79,000; Turkish,
250,000 to 300,000 out of 500,000. The fiasco badly
stained the reputations of Churchill, Hamilton, and Kitchener.
Despite its overall failure, however, the Gallipoli campaign
weakened the Turks enough to facilitate the British seizure
of Palestine in 1917. The action also distracted the Germans
1. On Saturday mornings I'd ride to the movies,
Booted and spurred on my horse made of tin
Tie-up my cyi-use outside on the pavement
Lay down my sixpence and mosey on in.
I'd sit in the front row with the other young cowboys
Waitin' for Roy to appear on the screen
Waitin' for Roy and his golden horse Trigger,
To carry me off into my favorite dream.
Chorus:
Roy Rogers, Roy Rogers, Oh you were my hero,
A man made of steel on a horse made of gold
Together we rode through the days of my childhood
Memories like heroes, they never grow old.
2. Together we rode over mountains and valleys
Camped out a night 'neath the wide prairie sky,
We'd sing cowboy songs as we sat by the campfire
While out in the darkness a wild coyote cried
Yi-pi-tie-yi-yo baked beans and coffee,
Tall tales and true as we sat by the fire
Then up in the morning and away we'd go riding.
Two gay caballeros, two heroes for hire.
3. And now I'm a man, and I've hung up my six-gun
No more do I ride on a horse made of tin.
Now I ride subways, and freeways and railways,
Instead of a six-gun I now wield a pen.
But part of my heart will always be ridin'
Along the bright canyons and the wild forest ways
Along with Roy Rogers my faithful companion,
Into the sunset of my childhood days.
(end, after chorus)
He was my friend, yes, he was my friend.
He never let me down.
He was honest and faithful right up to the end
"Cornflower Blue"
-Eric Bogle
Cornflower blue, bloomin' in the mornin' sun
Tiny flowers that grew, from when our love had just begun
Long ago we planted, each dry and dusty row
how long has it taken, for the seeds of love to grow?
Cornflower blue...
Cornflower blue, like the faded shirt you wore
Standing in the shadows, when I opened up the door
The smile in your eyes, when you said hello
Held me so tenderly, and you would not let me go
Cornflower blue...
Cornflower blue, deeper than the evenin' sky
peaceful as a river, bluer than goodbye
Blue like a diamond, when the light shines true
If love came in colors, then I'd choose this one for you
Cornflower blue...
"MIRRORS"
-Eric Bogle
Children are born with trust in their eyes
it's the first thing that we betray
Children are born believing in magic
it's the first thing we take away
Fill them with doubt instead of magic
and fear instead of trust
And after awhile, they're just like us
On this earth there is a city
in a rich green pleasant country
Where they kill their children
the children of the streets
Free enterprise extermination
why waste rehabilitation?
a bullet is forever
It's so final quick and cheap
And the despots all wear policemen's badges
Kill to supplement their wages
Earn their bloody bounty
with the gun and the club and knife
While profit-concious businessmen
Upright solid citizens
Pay them a cew cruzeiros
for every murdered street kids life
(But they're children!)
They're garbage on the streets
(Oh the children!)
They're beggars, whores and theives
(Oh pity the children!)
Cry pity if you will,
There's none on the streets
of Rio de Janeiro in Brazil
To bless this piece of paradise
High on a hill stands Jesus Christ
Gazing down with sightless eyes
at the daily blasphemy
A mocking marble coontradiction
arms spread wide in benediction
Suffer the little children,
suffer them to come to me
And the despots cry "amen, amen"
while they bow their knees to Bethlehem
They spit in the face of humankind
Turn our dreams to worthless dust
And the future, as it's always done,
stares down the barrel of a gun
Which once more begs the question,
When will the despots come for us?
(But they're children!)
Have you seen their eyes?
(Oh the children!)
Hard and wary and street-wise
(Oh pity the children!)
There are no children here
Only old eyes full of hunger
and hate and hopeless fear
(But they're children!)
Abandoned and forsaken
(Oh the children!)
Useless human flotsam
(Oh pity the children!)
And pity us as well
For in our childrens' eyes
"Ibrahim"
-Eric Bogle
(Album: The Colour of Dreams)
Hey Ibrahim, tell me what do you think of Australia?
Do our beautiful desert sunsets fill you with wonder?
As the sky catches fire, and the trees and the mountains change colour
But I guess the view from this side of the barbed-wire's much better
So Ibrahim, can you tell me, why did you come here?
What dream were you chasing and what did you hope to find here?
Did you flee from your own native land because your life was in danger?
Or were the reasons much more mundane, just poverty and hunger?
Wrong path, wrong choice, wrong creed, wrong culture
Wrong place, wrong time, wrong dream and wrong colour
You see Ibrahim, there's something I've been meaning to tell you
Being hungry and poor bestows no special status upon you
We won't send you back, if you can prove they'd imprison or kill you
But if you're just going back home to starve, I'm afraid we can't help you
You see Ibrahim, you've become a bit of a problem
This world's full of refugees fleeing poverty, war and oppression
So to take in queue-jumpers like you, well it's out of the question
It would give the world's hungry and poor the wrong impression
Wrong path, wrong choice, wrong creed, wrong culture
Wrong place, wrong time, wrong dream and wrong colour
I'm afraid Ibrahim, it's time to be totally candid
You had Buckley's chance* right from the moment you landed
Already to many a threat and a danger you were branded
And all because you follow the prophet Mohammed
You didn't count Ibrahim, on political opportunism
Our leaders knew that to many Australians, the very word "Muslim"
Meant Al-Quaeda, Hammas, the Taliban, and terrorism
And that's why you and your family are locked up in prison.
Wrong path, wrong choice, wrong creed, wrong culture
Wrong place, wrong time, wrong dream and wrong colour
So Ibrahim, tell me what do you think of Australia?
Do our beautiful desert sunsets fill you with wonder?
As the sky catches fire, and the trees and the mountains change colour
But I guess the view from this side of the barbed-wire's much better
Yes I guess the view from this side of the barbed-wire's much better
*****************************************
NOTE:
"Buckley's Chance" - Australian colloquialism meaning "no chance whatsoever".
If I told you tonight that I loved you
Would you walk my way would you say
Lies that I wanted to hear
If I told you tonight that I need you
Would you break my heart would you start
Wearing me down again
I feel so lonely when I'm with I'm with you
But I'm so lonely when you're gone
I can't live with you
I can't live without you
I still hold on
If I told you tonight I was leaving
Would you call my name take the blame
Turn it all around again
'Cause you know I love you
And worth the heartbreak we make
But I still hold on I still hold on
I feel so lonely when I'm with I'm with you
But I'm so lonely when you're gone
I can't live with you
I can't live without you
Summer's smiling on the city, it's another lovely day in Sydney, sunshine pouring down like honey.
But in the room where Clare is dying, no sunshine sends the shadows flying,
no children gather round her crying, there's no one there at all,
except perhaps for the man who sees each little sparrow fall.
Don't talk to me about lonely souls crying, dark quiet rooms with old people dying.
I don't want to hear, I don't want to hear it at all.
Tired old people die alone every day, don't blame me, I didn't make it that way.
That's just how it is, don't look for a reason at all.
Winter weeping on the city, a wet and windy day in Sydney,
rain drops rolling fat and heavy down Clare's window pane.
The raindrops on the tin roof beating, disturbing rats as they are feeding.
Back to the nest they all go creeping, leaving Clare alone again.
It's been a long and lonely time since Clare could hear the rain.
Don't talk to me about the meaning of life; don't sing your songs that cut like a knife.
I don't want to hear, I don't want to hear it at all.
Lonely old people ain't my concern, from dust we come,
to dust we return and that's all there is, don't look for a reason in it all.
Spring has come at last to Sydney; flowers are blooming in the city.
In all their multicoloured glory, they rise to greet the year.
Memories in chain recalling, footsteps on the front porch falling,
voices through the window calling, is anybody here
Clare Candle's lost and lonely soul is a long, long way from here.
Don't talk to me about life's seasons, don't ask me for answers,
don't ask me for reasons. I don't want to hear, I don't want to hear it at all.
From the moment we're born, we start to die; a man can go crazy if he keeps asking why.
That's just how it is, don't look for a reason at all.
Can't you understand what I'm trying to say, there must an answer;
there must be a way to make some sense of it, to try to find a reason for it all.
We are not born just so we can die, there must be an answer and
we've got to try to make some sense of it; to try to find a reason for it all.
Can't you understand what I'm trying to say, there must an answer;
there must be a way to make some sense of it, to try to find a reason for it all.
We are not born just so we can die, there must be an answer and
we've got to try to make some sense of it; to try to find a reason for it all.
That's just how it is, don't look for a reason at all.
Harry's wife is on her own Harry's up and Harry's gone Livin' in a middle-aged Babylon With a loose-lipped tight-hipped youthful blonde. Harry's wife is fifty-four It's been thirty year or more Since she gave up her job for Harry and the kids Round about now she's sorry that she did.
CHORUS: Harry's wife, Harry's wife, What you gonna do with the rest of your life? Are you just gonna lay down roll over and die? Harry's wife, Harry's wife, Are you gonna make the best of your life? Stand up lady, and spit in Harry's eye!
Verse 2. Harry and his blonde will be O.K. They'll manage quite nicely on Harry's pay Harry's wife doesn't have a wage Not many jobs for women of her age The house and the car are in Harry's name The bank accounts are just the same She'll have to hire a lawyer to get her share And get used to playin' solitaire
Verse 3. Harry's mates all nudge and wink It's clear what Harry's mates all think While their wives phone their sympathies And avoid her like some contagious disease Her kids are embarrassed and mortified They lecture and they patronize "Isn't it disgusting" they all say "People of their age should act this way"
Verse 4. Harry's wife was christened Emily Jane But few if any use her name She's worn a label for most of her life Mother, housekeeper and dutiful wife So Emily Jane has shed no tears Just thirty pounds and fifteen years Got a new job, new friends and new clothes After years spent as a daisy, she's bloomin' like a rose
Safe In the Harbour from Eric Bogle
Here is the lyrics for Safe In the Harbour
We hope that you enjoy them just asmuch as we here at International Lyrics DataBase do.
Have you stood by the ocean on a diamond-hard morning
And felt the horizon stir deep in your soul?
Watched the wake of a steamer as it cut thru blue water
And been gripped by a fever you just can't control?
O to throw off the shackles and fly with the seagulls
To where green waves tumble before a driving sea wind
Or to lie on the decking on a warm summer evening
Watch the red sun fall burning beneath the earth's rim
But to every sailor comes time to drop anchor
Haul in the sails and make the lines fast
You deep water dreamer, your journey is over
You're safe in the harbor at last
Some men are sailors, but most are just dreamers
Held fast by the anchors they forge in their minds
Who in their hearts know they'll never sail over deep water
To search for a treasure they're afraid they won't find
So in sheltered harbours they cling to their anchors
Bank dow their boilers & shut down their steam
And wait for the sailors to return with the bright treasures
That will fan the dull embers & fire up their dreams
And some men are schemers who laugh at the dreamers
Take the gold from the sailors & turn it to dross
They're men in a prison, they're men without vision
Whose only horizon is profit and loss
So when storm clouds come sailing across your blue ocean
Hold fast to your dreaming for all that you're worth
For as long as there's dreamers, there will always be sailors
"Queensland Whalers"
-Eric Bogle
I've sailed the North Atlantic with ice flows in the breeze
I've sailed the Dutch East Indies o'er the calm blue sunny seas
When I think of missing seamen me heart returns again
To a season spent in Moretan Bay with Queensland Whaling Men.
Yo-ho you Queensland Whalers, you've cut the sugar cane
You've driven herds of cattle o'er the dry and dusty plain
You've dug the ore at Isa, laid countless miles of rail
And now you've come to Moreton Bay to catch a Humpback Whale
To men who've chased the brumbies, caught bullocks by the tail
It really is no problem to catch a humpback whale
You steer your iron sea-horse, poke your gun through the rigging struts
And when she runs through the coral scrub, you belt her in the guts
Yo-ho you Queensland Whalers, you've cut the sugar cane
You've driven herds of cattle o'er the dry and dusty plain
You've dug the ore at Isa, laid countless miles of rail
And now you've come to Moreton Bay to catch a Humpback Whale
Now men up in the crows nest, so whaling legends go
When they spy a humpback whale they yell out "Thar She Blows!"
But here in sunny Queensland you'll often hear them shout
"There goes a bloody beauty mate, so get yer finger out!"
Yo-ho you Queensland Whalers, you've cut the sugar cane
You've driven herds of cattle o'er the dry and dusty plain
You've dug the ore at Isa, laid countless miles of rail
And now you've come to Moreton Bay to catch a Humpback Whale
From Moreton to Caloundra, bronze whaler sharks abound
They wait like dingoes in the scrub for a wounded beast that's down
But but for all their bloody savagery, well they just can't compare
With the big bite that the tax man takes when he gets hold of your share!
Yo-ho you Queensland Whalers, you've cut the sugar cane
You've driven herds of cattle o'er the dry and dusty plain
You've dug the ore at Isa, laid countless miles of rail
And now you've come to Moreton Bay to catch a Humpback Whale
And when the season's over, we'll head for Brisbane Town
And in the nearest boozer our sorrows we will drown
With beer and firey whiskey and when we've had enough
We'll steer a steady zig zag course and never give a stuff!
Yo-ho you Queensland Whalers, you've cut the sugar cane
You've driven herds of cattle o'er the dry and dusty plain
You've dug the ore at Isa, laid countless miles of rail
Dm - F - C - G - Dm - F - G
I (C)wrote this song for Ro(F)sie, (C)song's all I (G)have to give(C)
I've no (C)pocket full of (F)miracles(C), or magic wand to wave(G)
perhaps (F)love itself's a mira(C)cle, and (F)Faith a magic wand(G)
And (C)these two will give (F)Ro(C)sie, the best start that (G)they can(C)
Chorus
She may not (F)walk like she should (G)do,
She may not (C)talk like she ought (F)to
Sometimes the an(Dm)ger and the pain (G)show through
in (C)her frustrated cr(G)ies
But when she (F)smiles at me
I (C)can see the lit(F)tle girl who lives(G) in Rosie's eyes(C)
It's a tough road ahead for Rosie, with blind corners everywhere
Lined with samaritans and strangers who'll whisper, point and stare
And some of them will understand, but most of them will not
On her brave and lonely journey, she'll need all the strength she's got.
CHORUS
I once knew a barren cripple man, who stood firm and straight and tall
A bitter loveless heartless man with no compassion and no soul
But because his limbs were clean and strong, no one turned aside their face
He was a perfect shining mirror for the perfect human race
August in Mildura, and winters on the run, G D C D there?s an early taste of springtime, in the warm mid-morning sun. G D C As the men marched past from first to last, the crowds cheer everyone, Am D Am D G and war seems somehow very far away, on this sunny dedication day.
G D C They marched to a memorial, built by and for their own, G D C D a simple wall of remembrance of brick and steel and stone. G D C With the names inscribed of those that died and to those that had made it home, Am D Am D G with a debt of love and honor to repay, had all gathered there on dedication day.
Chorus
G D C It?s dedication day, G D C It?s dedication day.
Verse 2 G D C There was a concert held that evening me and others sang our songs, G D C D while the boys drank beer and reminisced, laughed and clapped and sang along. G D C As I was standing there with my guitar, just waiting to go on, Am D Am D G a man grabbed my arm and said please would you play a, song for my mate Hans this dedication day.
Verse 3 G D C He asked me to sing welcome home, and I saw tears in his eyes, G D C D I knew there was a story there, but I did not want to pry. G D C And then he said to me, I want that song you see, for this morning my mate died, Am D Am D G faced with his grief there was nothing I could say, so I sang for Hans on dedication day.
Chorus G D C It?s dedication day G D C It?s dedication day
(Piano solo)
Verse 4 G D C They say that Hans took his own life, but I don?t know if that?s true, G D C D but if it is that?s no surprise, too many Vietnam vetrans do. G D C Only those who were there, can know the despair and the pain that he went through, Am D Am G for who can understand it more than they, those who knew the cost of dedication day
Verse 5 G D C Though that Asian wars long over, there still burying their dead G D C D yet somehow the bond grows stronger, with each broken thread G D C What poison stole and two hands sold to taint the years ahead Am D Am D G In that war so long ago and far away until they died of wounds on dedication day.
G D C G D C
Chorus
G D C It's dedication day G D C It's dedication day
"The Sign"
-Eric Bogle
In the summer of last year, in a city* far from here
That stands on the shores of the fair Pacific sea
I walked it's pleasant streets, no view in mind, no one to meet
Content to wander where my aimless feet led me
A few streets from my hotel, I passed an old stone wall
where three words had been scrawled by an unknown hand
When I read them I stopped dead, in disbelief I shook my head
For the words on that wall read, "Free Bobby Sands"
As the sun began to fall, and the day began to die
Thought I heard the wild geese call, from a dark and empty sky
For long minutes I stood there, in that busy thoroughfare
While the past rose sharp and clear in my mind's eye
I saw it all again, the passion, hate, and pain
the indifference and the shame as a young man died
But it was all so long ago, and who now cares or knows
why Bobby Sands chose his lonely death?
But to the one who wrote that sign,
it seems that Bobby's light still shines
The words rang from another time,
but the paint was fresh
As the sun began to fall, and the day began to die
Thought I heard the wild geese call, from a dark and empty sky
So I went down to the sea, to let it's wild song comfort me
But my thoughts would not let me be, and unchecked they ran
Through my future, present, and past,
not for the first time nor the last
I heard them ask, "Could you be the kind of man
who would gladly sacrifice everything, even life
and put no price on a cause, or an ideal?"
No answer echoed in my heart, so I turned and I walked back
through the twilight's deepening dark, to my hotel.
****************
Historical Note:
Bobby Sands, MP, was imprisoned in 1981 under criminal charges
stemming from his alleged involvement in IRA terrorist activities
in Ulster Province (Northern Ireland). Mr. Sands, along with
20 other alleged IRA members in prison awaiting trial, went
on a hunger strike to protest inhumane conditions in the prison, and to
have the IRA members reclassified as "political prisoners".
The hunger strike lasted more than 60 days, resulting in the deaths
of many of the prisoners, of which Mr. Sands was the first to succumb.
Across the North Dakota hills the twilit road unwinds,
E A E B7 E
the setting sun sprays showers of gold across the dark green pines.
E A E B7
The evening shadows change from grey to an ever deepening blue,
E A E B7 E
and I'm somewhere in America, half a world away from you.
+ E - A - E - B7 - E
E A E B7
2. With sixteen towns behind me, and sixteen more to go,
E A E B7 E
I've long since stopped believing in the romance of the road.
E A E B7
Though friends and kind hearts wait for me in the town I'm heading to,
E A E B7 E
I'm somewhere in America, half a world away from you.
E A B7 E
And the road goes on and on and on,
E A B7 E
the road goes on and o....n and on.
E A E B7
3. And here and there along the road, welcoming and bright,
E A E B7 E
the lights from home and farmstead pierce the dark Dakota night.
E A E B7
Their brightness shines on others' lives, their welcome's for their own,
E A E B7 E
and I'm somewhere in America, half a world away from home.
+ E - A - E - B7 - E
E A E B7
4. But, well, you know, I love this life, the endless road's the stage,
E A E B7 E
that music's a fever in the blood, a wild bird in the cage.
E A E B7
You and I let that wild bird fly, its bright dreams to pursue,
E A E B7 E
now I'm somewhere in America, half a world away from you.
E A B7 E
And the road goes on and on and on,
E A B7 E
and the road goes on and o....n and on.
E A E B7
5. Across the North Dakota hills the twilit road unwinds,
E A E B7 E
the setting sun sprays showers of gold across the dark green pines.
E A E B7
The evening shadows change from grey to an ever deepening blue,
E A E B7 E
and I'm somewhere in America, half a world away from you.
E A E B7 A - E
Yes, I'm somewhere in America, half a world away from you.