Poor Guy, they cannot kill again,
Because he’s dead already!
Then bless her gracious Majesty
And bless her royal son, sirs,
And may he never get blown up
(That is, if she gets one, sirs)
And if she does, I’m sure he’ll reign,
So prophecies my song, sirs,
And if he don’t, why then he won’t,
And so I can’t be wrong, sirs!