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Banjo Paterson - The Sausage Candidate-A Tale for the Elections
Work rating: Medium

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.

How Jones had one time been trustee
For his small niece, and he — the villain! —
Betrayed his trust most shamefully,
And robbed the child of every shillin`.
He used to keep accounts, they say,
To save himself in case of trouble;
Whatever cash he paid away
He always used to charge it double.

He`d buy the child a cotton gown
Too coarse and rough to dress a cat in,
And then he`d go and put it down
And charge the price of silk or satin!
He gave her once a little treat,
An outing down the harbour sunny,
And Lord! the bill for bread and meat,
You`d think they all had eaten money!

But Jones exposed the course he took
By carelessness — such men are ninnies.
He went and entered in his book,
"Two pounds of sausages — two guineas."
Now this leaked out, and folk got riled,
And said that Jones, "he didn`t oughter".
But what cared Jones? he only smiled —
Abuse ran off his back like water.

And so he faced the world content:
His little niece — he never paid her:
And then he stood for Parliament,
Of course he was a rank free trader.
His wealth was great, success appeared
To smile propitious on his banner,
But Providence it interfered
In this most unexpected manner.

A person — call him Brown for short —
Who knew the story of this stealer,
Went calmly down the town and bought
Two pounds of sausage from a dealer,
And then he got a long bamboo
And tightly tied the sausage to it;
Says he, "This is the thing to do,
And I am just the man to do it.

"When Jones comes out to make his speech
I won`t a clapper be, or hisser,
But with this long bamboo I`ll reach
And poke the sausage in his `kisser`.
I`ll bring the wretch to scorn and shame,
Unless those darned police are nigh:
As sure as Brown`s my glorious name,
I`ll knock that candidate sky-high."

The speech comes on — beneath the stand
The people push and surge and eddy
But Brown waits calmly close at hand
With all his apparatus ready;
And while the speaker loudly cries,
"Of ages all, this is the boss age!"
Brown hits him square between the eyes,
Exclaiming, "What`s the price of sausage?"

He aimed the victuals in his face,
As though he thought poor Jones a glutton.
And Jones was covered with disgrace —
Disgrace and shame, and beef and mutton.
His cause was lost — a hopeless wreck
He crept off from the hooting throng;
Protection proudly ruled the deck,
Here ends the sausage and the song.
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