The Worst Pies in London

[MRS. LOVETT, spoken]
A customer!
(sung)
Wait! What's yer rush? What's your hurry?
You gave me such a—
Fright. I thought you was a ghost
Half a minute, can'tcher?
Sit! Sit ye down!
Sit!
All I meant is that I
Haven't seen a customer for weeks

Did you come here for a pie, sir?
Do forgive me if me head's a little vague—
(spoken)
Ugh!
What was that?
(sung)
But you'd think we had the plague—
From the way that people—
Keep avoiding—
(spoken)
No, you don't!
(sung)
Heaven knows I try, sir!
(spoken)
Yich!
(sung)
But there's no one comes in even to inhale—
Right you are, sir. Would you like a drop of ale?

Mind you, I can't hardly blame them—
These are probably the worst pies in London
I know why nobody cares to take them—
I should know
I make them
But good? No
The worst pies in London—
Even that's polite
The worst pies in London—
If you doubt it, take a bite

Is that just disgusting?
You have to concede it
It's nothing but crusting—
Here drink this, you'll need it
The worst pies in London—

And no wonder with the price of meat
What it is
When you get it
Never
Thought I'd live to see the day
Men'd think it was a treat
Finding poor
Animals
Wot are dying in the street

Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop
Does a business but I've noticed something weird—
Lately, all her neighbors' cats have disappeared
Have to hand it to her—
What I calls
Enterprise
Popping pussies into pies
Wouldn't do in my shop—
Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick
And I'm telling you them pussy cats is quick!
No denying times is hard, sir—
Even harder than
The worst pies in London
Only lard and nothing more—

Is that just revolting?
All greasy and gritty?
It looks like it's molting
And tastes like—
Well, pity
A woman alone
With limited wind
And the worst pies in London!

Ah, sir
Times is hard
Times is hard