The Song of New
p. 85 · Read in the full issue
Guinea
Hurry, hurry, hurry!
There is money all around— We cut it from the forests — We take it from the ground.
The Hasluck sneer is growing, The Fadden has a plan; The golden days are passing— So grab it while you can.
The Aussie gift is priceless— Eight million quid a year!
Three millions from the oil men— They’re spending it right here.
The Bomb may come tomorrow, The Asians any day— So hurry, hurry, hurry, And grab it while you may.