Guinea Miner
p. 36 · Read in the full issue
Ihe Song Of The New
Up the hill, an’ down the hill, An’ through th’ blasted kunai.
“Come on, mate! Keep goin’ till We can make our strike.”
Howlin’ dog an’ stinkin’ smell— An’ still the blasted kunai.
“Hold on, mate! All will be well When we make our strike.”
Kai is scarce and boys are sick — Hell take this blasted kunai!
“Never mind! We’ll do the trick, And yet we’ll make our strike.”
Singin’ sometimes, cursin’ others.
Always the blasted kunai.
“Anyhow, we’ll stick like brothers, Till we make th’ strike.”