Oh that fateful day
The Irish assassins came this way
To hold miss princess Di
So surely she was to die
When one of those drunken men
Threw his fists
(Yes, they do drink, listen, I insist)
Screaming for a kid
Named Sid, I think
After which the others
Wished they had a mother
Or a brother
So the assassins guild
Turned nursing home
Watched over Di
And threatened her life
With their broken bottles
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem