Mr Jack.

The sneakers you wear the black and white stripes against the dirt gathered on your soul
Don't make you the jack hammer stammer grabber manner taught fucker that dug your grand daddies bucket of Victorian coal
A nineteenth century rap, because you ignored your ancestry,your only thing is throwing another carbon on the fire to keep the orphans warm
During the ripper raping anticipating, the whistle carrying early dawns cops who didn't know what the fuck was going on in the middle of the storm.

Mr Jack, roaming the alley ways of all our days,searching out the eyes of a prostitute to gouge and surgically remove
Intestines cut out and left on the street for the discoverers to gage and move
Don't underestimate my ability to disappear into the shadows
You'll never find me brother, I'm a haunting apparition,  a black suspect,  a ghost that glows.

Because you can't describe me any which way but yet
This underestimated, pre fabricated, under educated cleverest a vile of clay that set
A pottery of fingerprints, first time ignored when the detective snored
Behind the old oak carved desk, praying to the crucified cross ignored.

So who the fuck did it, who pillaged the fated  of Victorian streets
Who abused the knife dash scalpel wounds on the young fucking teets
For one hundred and fifty unsolved years
Amongst generations. Absolutely passed by tears.

And so I'll tell you who created the rap English gods atrocities
Who stabbed the poor mothers the never born complicity
The Victorian end to the Los Angeles rhyme trapper
It was me you mother fucker,  Mr Jack, the undiscovered Victorian rapper.