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1888 the year of terror and fear
throats slitted open from ear to ear

JACK THE RIPPER  preying on the road
He 's spooky and wears a black coat

In the evenings his skills paint red lace
so good at his job,he kills as he plays

In Croaky Moors hiding his shadows
roaming in alleys and meadows

Five victims ,Five whores slasshed to death
Breasts thorn apart,their hearts on the bed

a stalker,a cannibal in East End of London
drinking in bars,His hiding a dungeon

The prostitutes tongues pulled  out from their roots
sending the killer in the best of his moods

Years passed come and gone,each dusk cover dawn
five ghosts are heard aching in one brutal moan

Jack's name still an echo in the narrow back streets
Soul's blood is still shedding,for justice it pleads

Scothland yard officers were being fooled
from "Hell" and "Dear Boss"letters,Jack ruled


Ruben and i tried to capture this cold blooded guy,
but we'll pass it on to J.R, Investigator with Style


Go for it  John...
  
-------------------------CHARMA

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