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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.
__
Notes

The Bulletin, 9 February 1889

Published during the 1889 election campaign for the New South Wales General Parliament
spysgrandson Nov 2013
if I quote great “minds”
or utter a singular word
about my own
tell me to hide under a rock  
shun me with silence  
ignore my proclamations
throw stones at me    
I will eat my insects
skitter through the cacti forests  
without regard for trudging truth  
or the liquid lies of the high born  
I will dodge the thorns  
let my blood boil in the searing sun  
mate without wily wooing
I will be
other than thee,    
a grit dirt dweller  
a hisser, blissfully
unaware, I hope
Sleep May 2019
kaleidolon the hisser
pink
ragged rose
above an empty jar--
his hair broke like glass
i keep a faucet of his
hisser
tell me what does this evoke in you, reader, if anything
devante moore Jun 2015
Heat seeker
But cold blooded
Constrictor
Tongue twisssster
Hisser and injector
I can taste you from a far
Fear my strike
Im like lightning when I bite
Hidden among the dead leaves
Camouflaged high above in the trees
You aren't safe from me
I'll find you
Squeeze the life out of you
And when you can no longer breath
Swallow you whole
From head to toe
Killer of many
Enemy of most
Fear, none
I slither amongst the ground
Leaving my scale prints bound
Stubble across me you're likely to die
Kiss you with a corrosive liquid
The last thing you'll see while your alive
Is the death in my eyes
I was born a killer
Non **** des rochers de l'Atlas,
Au milieu des déserts où cent tribus errantes
Promènent au hasard leurs chameaux et leurs tentes,
Un jour, certain enfant précipitait ses pas.
C'était le jeune fils de quelque musulmane
Qui s'en allait en caravane.
Quand sa mère dormait, il courait le pays.
Dans un ravin profond, **** de l'aride plaine,
Notre enfant trouve une fontaine,
Auprès, un beau dattier tout couvert de ses fruits.
Oh ! quel bonheur ! dit-il, ces dattes, cette eau claire,
M'appartiennent ; sans moi, dans ce lieu solitaire,
Ces trésors cachés, inconnus,
Demeuraient à jamais perdus.
Je les ai découverts, ils sont ma récompense.
Parlant ainsi, l'enfant vers le dattier s'élance,
Et jusqu'à son sommet tâche de se hisser.
L'entreprise était périlleuse :
L'écorce, tantôt lisse et tantôt raboteuse,
Lui déchirait les mains, ou les faisait glisser :
Deux fois il retomba : mais d'une ardeur nouvelle
Il recommence de plus belle,
Et parvient enfin, haletant,
A ces fruits qu'il désirait tant.
Il se jette alors sur les dattes.
Se tenant d'une main, de l'autre fourrageant.
Et mangeant,
Sans choisir les plus délicates.
Tout à coup voilà notre enfant
Qui réfléchit et qui descend.
Il court chercher sa bonne mère,
Prend avec lui son jeune frère,
Les conduit au dattier. Le cadet incliné,
S'appuyant au tronc qu'il embrasse,
Présente son dos à l'aîné ;
L'autre y monte, et de cette place,
Libre de ses deux bras, sans efforts, sans danger,
Cueille et jette les fruits ; la mère les ramasse,
Puis sur un linge blanc prend soin de les ranger :
La récolte achevée, et la nappe étant mise,
Les deux frères tranquillement,
Souriant à leur mère au milieu d'eux assise,
Viennent au bord de l'eau faire un repas charmant.
De la société ceci nous peint l'image :
Je ne connais de biens que ceux que l'on partage.
Coeurs dignes de sentir le prix de l'amitié,
Retenez cet ancien adage :
Le tout ne vaut pas la moitié.
Check it, it's the tongue twister,
Giving mics blister,
Hisser, watch for the snakes it'll get Cha, hit cha,
Defense, three point stance,romance
A woman out of her pants,
Staple that, hold that,
Knock em out the park,
Like Mcgwires wooden bat,
Split the wax, through verbal ax,
Click clack,
Make em cut all that chit chat,
Fools stay yellin' that,
Who's this smooth cat,
Felix style, golden child,how you like me now,
Talk nice, but mean when I smile,
A wolf, amongst the wild,
Fox instincts,
Dipped blueberry ice the sink,
Egyptian minks,
Loosen the rap game, cuz I see it kinks,
Rap mantra,
Drive a black Tundra,
Ultimate thunder, when I provide the flash,
Photo copy, naked women on the dash,
Check the unexpected,
Watch looking bullied,
Plus I Rolexed it,
Check the corporate, don't disrespect it,
We fly, as delta airways,
Minus the crime pays, mob says,
Make beautiful displays,
Put ya face in it,
You Dutch Shultzn it,
The true last remaining, soldier fit,
Attitude like Patton,
See me tattin,
Out batting, small timer, they ain't made, for the heavy rhymers,
Lyrical dalmer,
Eat these tracks, spit the bones out,
Houdini,
Acrobatics ice these cats,
Cauliflower seats in the Cadillac,
Plus I got broccoli with that,
Bishop Don Juan,
Sitting like an elephant, money weighs a ton,
My Usi, by the Jacuzzi cruise with me,
Like Eazy in the 63,
Paint job cherry, welcome to the voice of Barry,
Women grow weak when I speak,
Freak the anthem, antique,
Golden mics, my voice sounds nice,
Roll out the hood,
Looking good, fresh Holly hood,
Plus I got stood,
Up with the best ****, none could match back up,
Before the beat smacks up,
Five across ya face,
Don't miss place the purple tapes,
1993 was that year,
The industry got *****,
**** *******, raw dog the masses,
Eardrum,
Yo peep the conundrum,
Htown home of the slowed stay swangin' vogue's
Pokin' elbows  you know how it goes flows
On and on like the song smoke owls to Swishers
Dialect the snake hisser Texas richer fill a pitcher
Leaned out see what I'm talking about ranging clout
See the south rising everyday no disguising
Yellow stones rocking yellow stones on my own
No clones in my zone throw out the bones phone
By the baddest yellow bones watch the chrome
Spinning from Tre to the heart of the Astrodome
Alone I'm getting my ride on hitting the woss ness
It's a mess see they scared to jump out at Texas
We forever reckless ghetto boy free Mr McCoy
No void oh boy I'm rocking Cortez with the corduroy
Golfers uniform no gang affiliate but pockets is thick
Watch ya mouth or be ready to face off with the click
******* up I'm so flowed dressed in gold fold
A haters bluffer cards welcome to hoods backyard
Drug moving like a aided St Bernard  stay hard sward
Tre stay flippin' away from brothaz of colors to esses
We don't play so stay away from the h *** guns slay
Another body caught slipping today 48 hours later
Beat the case another Ben's face courts is laced
Leave an untraced pace ****** scene glitter gleams
Still watching the rims circling but can't catch a sting


Paved the roads with ***** murals holding mirrors
Images of myself watch my health stay in stealth
Oh yeah they can't catch me slippin' chrome dippin'
Watch the blades chop as I hit the brake stops
Still moving smoothin' peanut butter stutter
Haters from the utters feel the depths of a gutta
Brother no other coming down with the chirping sound
Not the birds **** what ya heard suckas is terd
Tryna go against the wood grain nerd scurred
Of my wrecking southsider still flexing mad checking
What up to that 3-6 still in the mix back on my thang
Smoke Jane miss the caine game chain gang
See all the homies swang as the trunks bang
15's or better under the weather to haters try to endeavor
Waving like flows of Mayweather go gettah
Cheddar B K A mozzarella a funky fella rhyme dealer
Fill tha souls of the south so suckas watch ya mouf
For ya catch a snub nose snout giving ya foot gout
Hold up as I swole up beats finna chop ya up
Still leaning off a switch PAT lit it up now my cup
Runneth up from my haters now meet Mr Terminator
Black Saga continues ******* up news clues
Left for the blues we finna blow the fuse
Burn this muthafucka down word to James Brown
Funky drummer smoke sticks with some chicks
Check the rim that licks up the sunshine my mind
Still flossin' dimes over penny thoughts caught
My attention rims jackin' Shaquille O'Neal suspension

— The End —