there comes a teacher at beacons high,
who, I must say, was a spy;
her name is Sandra,
she's hotter than pizza.
I Think she's a spy,
I his don't know why.
she's been so ash lately;
making sure our decks are sparkling clean,
we have to assemble on a line,
with our Shirts well talk-in;
here is a lady that tolerate no rubbish.
although she looks like a spy, but not
she's just so tough I'm right.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem