He carried on as a thiever—
the acorn don’t fall far out.
I am talkin’ ’bout Jacksons:
first dad, now his little sprout.
He’s goin’, Jackson, the Junior, goin’ down.
Yeah, some crooked action in Chicago town.

Yes, goin’ down is Jackson
who’s claiming his mental health’s
what made the man a crook on scale grand,
made him a looter of pelf.
Gold Rolex Jackson got in a snare;
money-grubber and sleazeball Jackson
screwed the taxpay’r.

Yep, he was sleazy and grifty,
stealin’ lots of loot; that’s how
he got on the train gravy,
and just look where he is now:
he’s brought down, Jackson;
he’s gonna lose the mink coats.
The new couture of Jackson:
[prison] blues, not Gucci’s he’ll tote.

Grubbing, snatching dude was Jackson;
he took his chances, now don’t have a leg
to stand on; this clown was a gelted [sic] hound—
just some more political dregs.
“Bipolar” Jackson—that’s his talkin’ scam.
So now role-playing is Jackson: his mind went on the lam.

He carried on as a thiever—
hogged a lot, but time ran out.
He got caught ’n’ now Jackson’s
showed us what he’s all about.
He put on, Jackson, the bipolar act
It’s one-more-con Jackson;
tried to follow dad’s tack.