Why Francesco died

He was a foreigner, a wop.
You know, those Italian, come here to NYC, all Mafia, Mamma and Pizza.
He met a crowd of young Irish, that started to make fun on him, the young Italiano, with his strange Broccolino accent, and on his little brother, Pietro, half of his age, twenty.
They did not kill him. But it was so funny to throw him in the East River (I think it was not the Hudson, even if the myth says that), after the little Pete escaped (You know, those Italian how fast are, when escaping!).
It was so cold, the water. Full of rats' pee, too.
He died in Xmas, what his killers even did not know, happy for the holiday.
The old Pietro (my granpa), still grieved for him when thougt of him
Remember Francesco, when you think that stranger are too strange, for us.
Remember Francesco, when you think that stranger are too strange, for us.