Scorn Of The Women
Well I remember respectfullyLike others before meAll those folk who fell in the warAnd I heard you singing songs of lamentationBut I don’t wish to hear them no more“And what did you do in the time of the war?”Is a question asked by everyoneWell I stood in the lineMy screwdriver in handMaking aircraft out at Laverton
SO don’t sing no songs about Waltzing MatildaDon’t tell me I tried, don’t tell me I failed‘Cos all I recall is the scorn of the womenAnd the white feather that I received in the mail
Well I remember the dayI went down to enlistAnd they said, “Read this chart on the wall”And I remember the toneOf the voice of the doctorAs he said to me“That will be all thank you very much”And riding home slowly, I sat on my tramNot sure if to laugh or to cryFor to train in the campsA man needs his lampsAnd a good soldierMust have good eyes
Well it takes more than bulletsTo murder, to maimWhether worn down or beatenA death’s still a deathAnd you know sometimesWhen I think back to the fortiesI pray for my very last breathOh you know, I have nothingAgainst those who foughtBut for Christ’s sakeWe do what we canThere’s more than one wayThat you can skin a catAnd there’s more than one wayYou can cripple a man