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Poem	Oh, it's dreadful to think in a country like this With its chances for work - and enjoyment That a man like McGuinness was certain to miss Whenever he tried for employment. He wrote to employers from Bondi to Bourke, From Woolloomooloo to Glen Innes, But he found - though his wife could get plenty of work - There was never a job for McGuinness. But perhaps - later on - when the Chow and the Jap Begin to drift down from the tropics, When a big yellow stain spreading over the map Provides some disquieting topics, Oh, it's then when they're wanting a man that will stand In the trench where his own kith and kin is, With a frown on his face and a gun in his hand - Then there might be a job for McGuinness!
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