CHAPTER 1
The Sausage Candidate, a Tale of the Elections
CHAPTER 1Visible text2 paragraphs
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.
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.
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.