Explore "Collected Poetry" by Andrew Barton Paterson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Our fathers, brave men were and strong, / And whisky was their daily liquor; / They used to move the world along / In better style than now--and quicker. / Elections then were sport, you bet! / A trifle rough, there's no denying / When two opposing factions met / The skin and hair were always flying.
When "cabbage-trees" could still be worn / Without the question, "Who's your hatter?" / There dawned a bright election morn / Upon the town of Parramatta. / A man called Jones was all the go / The people's friend, the poor's protector; / A long, gaunt, six-foot slab of woe, / He sought to charm the green elector.