Roads

Urging that certain main roads in the coun- try, which are largely used by other than ratepayers, be nationalised, a deputation from the National Federation waited upon the Minister for Public Works (Mr Clapp) yesterday.

Now, me an' Brown an' Brannigan,
    We live on a country road;
An' now an' then in the Autumn days
    We digs our spuds an' we fills our
    drays,
An' trundles a little load,
An' the road belongs, as you'll agree,
To Brannigan, Brown an' me.

For why? It is us that keeps it up,
    An' it's us that pays the rates.
An' the Council soon will let us know
If we lags behind an' the payments
    slow.
An' aint paid on due dates.
For all arrears they quick comes down
On Brannigan, me an' Brown.

Now, me an' Brown an' Brannigan,
    We reckon that's all square,
When it's us alone that use the roads
For our bits o' trips with the tater
    loads.
But wot we don't think fair
Is to give the road to others free
That's kept by Brannigan, Brown an'
    me.

Now, the Council spends some 'undred
    quid,
That Brannigan, me an' Brown,
An' some other few blokes that lives
    about,
From our 'ard-earned bit of a pile shells
    out—
An' they lays some metal down,
Which we thinks will see the winter
    thro'—
Brannigan, Brown an' me, we do.

Then the motorin' blokes comes buzzin'
    up,
An' they tears an' skids an' bumps,
The charry-bank an' the lumberin'
    bus.
They uses the road that was built by
    us,
An' they calls us country chumps,
An' so we are: for we're fair took down,
Are Brannigan, me an' Brown.

Then the timber wagons they lumbers
    by,
An' they pounds the road to slush
But never a bean do the carters pay
To keep that road in a decent way.
But they never cares a rush
For the timber man an' the toff from
    town,
They laughs at Brannigan, me an'
    Brown.

Then, when the time o' the year comes
    round,
To cart our produce out,
We find we're axle-deep in mire;
For the motor wheel an' the wagon
    tire
Have messed that road about.
So we gets just mud for our £ s. d.—
Do Brannigan, Brown an' me.

Then to me an' Brown an' Brannigan
    The Council sez: "Look 'ere:
This road is in an orful state.
We think we'll 'ave to raise the rate,
An' you pays more this year."
An' so the game goes roun' an' roun'
Poor mugs are Brannigan, me an'
    Brown.