He had a blue spider web tattoo on his elbow,
a holograph of an eye on his lapel,
his complexion was smooth and uneven,
a killer and a scholar, you could tell.

No, you wouldn’t want to make his acquaintance,
and you wouldn’t want to fall under his spell,
his sweet breath both stinking and hypnotic,
a killer and a scholar, you could tell.

Oh, some men spend their lives in solid homes,
some spend their days drinking the finest wines,
some men dream to live the stories they tell,
while other men beg before dying.

His hair was black, his head clean shaven,
one eye rose, while the other eye fell.
He was ugly, but still quite appealing,
a killer and a scholar, you could tell.

He kept a little book with a list of names,
and each victim his name he would spell,
and when he crossed that name off his list—
another sinner would await him in Hell—

a killer and a scholar, you could tell.

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