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Dear boss, I keep on hearing |
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that the police have caught me |
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but they won't fix me just yet |
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I have laughed |
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when they looked so clever |
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and talk about being |
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on the right track |
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That joke about leather apron |
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gave me real fits |
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I am down on whores |
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and I shan't quit ripping them |
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till I do get buckled |
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grand work the last job was |
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I have the lady no time to squeal |
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And I want to start again |
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you will soon learn of me |
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with my funny little games |
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I saved some of the proper red stuff |
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in a ginger beer bottle over the last job |
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To write with but it went thick |
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like glue |
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and I can't use it |
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Red ink is fit enough I hope |
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ha ha |
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the next job I do |
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I shall clip the ladies ears off |
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and send them to police officers |
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just for jolly |
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Wouldn't you? |
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Keep this letter back |
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till I do a bit more work |
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then give it out straight |
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my knives so nice and sharp |
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I want to get back to work right away |
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if I get a chance |
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Good luck! |
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Yours truly, |
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Jack the Ripper |
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Don't mind me given the trade name |
