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The History of the Melbourne view1


SITE SOURCE: Sport
(Tune: Limerick Races)

THE SYDNEY RACES

In the streets of London town, as one takes a quiet tiring,
‘What varied sights and scenes one sees, what vehicles are therein—
From ducal trap to donkey cart, with donkeys of all classes;
In Sydney we no mokes have got, but quantities of Hasses!

Frantic chorus—Tooral looral, haw he haw!
-Donkeys of all classes,
We ever were, and still will be,
‘The famous Sydney Hasses..

See Scottish Volunteers, dressed up in kilts and trew sirs,
When mosquitoes are about I wouldn’t be in their shoes. sirs;
Old Scratch, himself must snigger out, if near their line he passes,
They’d scare a Pai Marire foe, those cockney Highland Hasses.

chorus
Old Bailey has a Bishop who, to clutch some loaves and fishes,
Self-consecrated, hopes to hold with all sectarian wishes;
He is a downy bird of pray, and ravenous his class is,
Deck “d out in deacon’s toggery to spout to frantic Hasses.

chorus
Then take the noble Sydney swells, who tailor’s bills delight in,
And fancy that about their smiles the ladies all are fighting;
Who, daily ogle barmaids, swear, bet, play, drain many glasses,
And are a pleasant loafing set, half puppies and half Hasses

chorus
A scriptural burlesque drew people nightly flocking:
‘ Twas of a class which folks could not help thinking shocking;
With daub’d up scenes, and ill-judged verse, it was the worst of farces,
But still ‘tas found an easy job to ‘do’ the Sydney Hasses.

We’ve a neat brigade of Blues; if they hear a row or noise , sirs,
They arrive just when too late, and take up the little boys, sirs;
When they’re arresting wandering goats, each one as bold as brass is,
But from fatal fray they sneak away—those Peelerite nice Hasses.

chorus
Our mob of great unpaid who haunt the Courts each morning,
Pronouncing their decisions, all rights of grammar scorning;
They’re all there for inebriates—at jaw none them surpasses;
But when they’re laying down the law they prove themselves but Hasses.

chorus
There’s the legal satellites who round the Police Court flock, fin,
The proper part of it, for them, no doubt should be the dock, sirs;
A. gnat they’d strain a coin to gain; it’s rather odd the masses
Should ever be deluded by such seedy, sharkish Hasses.

chorus
We’ve a famous Lower House, filled with M.L.A.’s who din it
With objects murky – they, themselves the greatest “objects ” in it;
Their blundering puts the groaning land in straits as huge as Basses;
‘Twixt them and their constituents, which are the greatest Hasses?