Hey, hey, hey - we're the ponies three,
Mr. Burns, Smithers, Li'l Red.
In our bach pasture we be,
Always make time for getting fed.
A pony's not a baby horse,
Just some smaller in height and weight.
We're mature male adults of course,
With dreams of ponyettes to mate.
We're not the petting, riding sort,
Other pony places for that.
We are on show showmen, in short,
Right here in the farm habitat.
Three ponies at Lincoln Park Zoo.
Hay, hay, hay and away we chew.
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I would like to translate this poem