Hangin’ on to the old days of wearing jungle greens,
Hiding from life with the donga for a screen,
Reliving those days in our head,
Hard times, fear, bloodshed and dread.
Not easy to displace those chaotic days,
Plucked from civvy street and youthful ways,
Surfin’, footy, sheilas, J.J’s, summer fun,
Conscripted, inducted, grenade, rifle, gun.
No time now for civilian troubles.
Learn, conform, don’t argue, all at the double!
“What’s goin’ on here dickhead” instructor’s scream,
Don’t let your mates down jack-man you ain’there to dream
Or you’ll be back squadded, don’t let down the team.”
Get on with it, don’t think of slumber.
You don’t have a name, only a number.
To your new army mates you must be dependable.
To the brass hats up top, well, you’re expendable.
Then off to sunny Queensland, that where you train,
Up hill, across creeks, ticks, leeches, rain.
Observe, survive, overcome pain, “Be a man”!
“To fight for a grateful country.” Those were the words
That were used.
“And when you get back you’ll be heroes on the six o’clock news.”
But we weren’t, we were spat on, called “child killer”
What kind of welcome home is that?
No wonder we’re bloody confused!