Beware, the Toecutter
that dastardly fiend
who's sworn to his seekers
they're wasting their time.
He's honed and he's crafty.
His madness makes sense.
Believe his threats.
They won't take him alive.

The mistake that was made
presuming your safety
will get your name on the list
of his mates.
Jack and his ripping
through dainty old London
pale when compared
to crime in the States.

The rumors you've heard
on the buses are true.
Most of them stop
at the coroner's door.
The Chief was seen sobbing.
The rookies called wives.
The Toecutter's signature
shows no remorse.

He sings with his shears.
They've never been sharpened.
There's rust and there's blood
and some patches of hair.
Learn, if you must, where he
worships his treasures.
I can't inform you.
I've never been there.

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