They say he was a tall gent & curiously cross eyed,
He'd none of Dr. Jekyll, but all of Mr. Hyde,
His bedside manner was lax in the extreme,
His preference was poison and his name was Dr. Cream.

By day he lodged in Lambeth & on Sunday led the hymns,
By night he savoured Stamford Street, its Music Hall and inns,
He stalked the streets of London with his powders and his pills,
A cure all for the working girls, an end to all their ills.

In the milky white solution he dipped his poison pen,
and turned his hand to blackmailing the sons of gentlemen,
But Scotland Yard was close behind and soon the trap was sprung
Followed by another for Dr. Cream was hung.

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