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Banjo Paterson - The Duties of an Aide-De-Camp
Work rating: Medium

Oh, some folk think vice-royalty is festive and hilarious,
The duties of an A.D.C. are manifold and various,
So listen, whilst I tell in song
The duties of an aide-de-cong.
Whatsoever betide
To the Governor`s side
We must stick — or the public would eat him —
For each bounder we see
Says, "Just introduce me
To His Lordship — I`m anxious to meet him."

Then they grab at his paw
And they chatter and jaw
Till they`d talk him to death — if we`d let `em —
And the folk he has met,
They are all in a fret,
Just for fear he might chance to forget `em.

When some local King Billy
Is talking him silly,
Or the pound-keeper`s wife has waylaid him,
From folks of that stamp
When he has to decamp —
We`re his aides to decamp — so we aid him.

Then some feminine beauty
Will come and salute ye,
She may be a Miss or a Madam,
Or a man comes in view,
Bails you up, "How de do!"
And you don`t know the fellow from Adam!

But you`ve got to keep sweet
With each man that you meet,
And a trifle like this mustn`t bar you,
So you clutch at his fin,
And you say, with a grin,
"Oh, delighted to see you — how are you?"

Then we do country shows
Where some prize-taker blows
Of his pig — a great, vast forty-stoner —
"See, my Lord! ain`t he fine!
How is that for a swine!"
When it isn`t a patch on its owner!

We fix up the dinners
For parsons and sinners
And lawyers and bishops and showmen,
And a judge of the court
We put next to a "sport",
And an Orangeman next to a Roman.

We send invitations
To all celebrations,
Some Nobody`s presence entreating,
And the old folks of all
We invite to a ball,
And the young — to a grandmothers` meeting.

And when we go dancing,
Like cart-horses prancing,
We plunge where the people are thickenkn`;
And each gay local swell
Thinks it`s "off" to dance well,
So he copies our style — ain`t it sickenin`!

Then at banquets we dine
And swig cheap, nasty wine,
But the poor aide-de-camp mustn`t funk it —
And they call it champagne,
But we`re free to maintain
That he feels real pain when he`s drunk it.

Then our horses bestriding
We go out a-riding
Lest our health by confinement we`d injure;
You can notice the glare
Of the Governor`s hair
When the little boys say, "Go it, Ginger!"

Then some wandering lords —
They so often are frauds —
This out-of-way country invading,
If a man dresses well
And behaves like a swell,
Then he`s somebody`s cook masquerading.

But an out-an-out ass
With a thirst for the glass
And the symptoms of drink on his "boko",
Who is perpetually
Pursuing the ballet,
He is always the "true Orinoco".

We must slave with our quills —
Keep the cash — pay the bills —
Keep account of the liquor and victuals —
So I think you`ll agree
That the gay A.D.C.
Has a life that`s not all beer and skittles!
Source
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