'Oh why do they always make a fuss,
Your honor I really didn't see that bus!
And I took that necklace on loan, on trust;
It just got lost between... my bust.'
'I was being mobbed, by unruly fans,
It was all a whirl, you have to understand;
I‘m famous, did I disrupt your plans?
I'm sorry I was late to take the stand.'
'Do I really have to go to jail?
I hear they make you poop in pails.
Perhaps a guard will do my nails?
My God, I'm going to miss this week's sales! '
'Can't I do charity for the homeless poor?
I could go knocking, waving, door to door;
People love to see me being so adored;
Prison would be such an awful bore.'
'Could one of my servants serve my time?
I know they're guilty of all sorts of crimes;
This one, D.J. Myke, dared to write in rhyme.
Put him in jail, that would be divine.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem