| Well
|
| Did he cut your throat with a razor?
|
| Did he put an ice pick in your neck?
|
| Will it be on the police records
|
| Open to be checked?
|
| Oh Jack (x4)
|
| So when you pick him up from the street
|
| Sunk to the very lowest branch of your profession, so to speak
|
| Going back to where you started to
|
| Take him to our shabby, dank, dark room to screw
|
| Oh hey Jack (x4)
|
| Did he open up her body, from your arteries did the blood pour?
|
| Did the police really give a shit?
|
| Well you were just another whore
|
| Oh hey Jack
|
| Were you sexually excited to kill a whore?
|
| Or was it for God performed as a chore?
|
| Oh Jack (x2)
|
| As you looked at her dead body and over her you came
|
| So even in your death throes, the man is shamed
|
| Hey Jack (x2)
|
| Oh Jack (x2)
|
| And you feel he is the dark angel
|
| And you feel joy and release
|
| That your miserable existence is coming to an end
|
| And you love him like no other man
|
| So, little bird, you’re a victim of the beast’s lust
|
| Lust it killed you as into you his thrust
|
| Hey Jack
|
| Oh hey Jack
|
| Hey Jack
|
| Hey Jack |