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He might shoot you in the head

His stolen car might run you down

Fill your suburb full of dread

Erratic M.O. makes policemen frown

Eric Cooke; seven lives he took

By hook or by crook, youʼre dead in his book

Undressing inside, youʼre under his eyes

You wonʼt even know it, when your life expires

Then heʼll cavort about with your corpse

His victims lay slumped; heʼs got police stumped

Heʼs gonna have fun with cars, knives and guns

Youʼd best lock your door in case “Cookie” comes

Cooke would break in to your home

And watch you getting into bed

He will hide and have a wank

Or maybe he might shoot you dead

Eric calling in the night...

Eric giving you a fright...

Eric peeping in your room...

Eric causing Perth much gloom...

Eric moving all ʻround town...

Eric shooting people down...

Ericʼs dad had beat him real bad...

There were reasons he was very mad

E. Edgar Cooke - the murderous crook

Heʼs the family guy who made people die

Men and women of any age

Could not escape his deadly rampage

Such a good knack, for hiding his crimes

This crime spree did last for considerable time

Eric got caught!...

The night-callerʼs blunder was hiding his gun

Under a Geraldton wax, which somebody saw

Police pounced on Cooke

And his spree was cut short

He pleaded guilty for some crimes

Though two innocent men did jail time

In 1964 Eric hung