The clatter of hoofs upon the cobble streets
Fog hanging in the air bitter sweet
Another night a good time girl
Lays down with organs out

Screams of panic hit the air
London town is now aware
That he is on the prowl again
Who is next to be slain

Is it Mary Anne, or Mary Jane
He knows the others died in pain
At the hands he weilds his butcher tools
Sawing cutting that insues

Darkest cloak is worn with glee
And shadows hide the misery
Of ****** of old London town
Butchered by a devilish sound

But who is this Jack of deaths trade
Who sneaks about with his blade
Hungry for another taste
Of girls that make love in haste