Wait! What’s yer rush?
What’s yer 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 in for a pie, sir?
Do forgive me if me head’s a little vague—
What is that?
But you’d think we had the plague—
From the way the people—
Keep avoiding—
No you don’t!
Heaven knows I try, sir!
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
Though 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 noticed something weird—
Lately all her neighbor’s cats have disappeared.
Have to hand it to her—
Wot 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.