The Worst Pies in London is the third song of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.
Role[]
The scene shows Sweeney Todd entering a pie shop owned by Mrs. Lovett, seeing her absentmindedly chopping and a cockroach crawling across the counter. He slowly backs up towards the door when Lovett notices him and drags him over to a table, excited to have a customer despite serving such terrible food. She laments to Sweeney about her hard financial times and how another neighborhood meat pie shop is supposedly serving cat meat pies.
Lyrics[]
MRS. LOVETT:
"A customer!"
Wait!
What’s your rush?
What’s your hurry?
You gave me such a...
Fright!
I thought you was a ghost
Half a minute? Can’t you sit?
Sit you down, SIT!
All I meant is that I ’aven’t seen a customer for weeks
Did you come in for a pie, sir?
Do forgive me if me ’ead’s a lil’ vague
"What was that?"
But you think we had the plague
From the way that people
Keep avoidin’ --
"No, you don’t!"
Heaven knows I try, sir
But there’s no one comes in even to inhale
Right you are, so would you like a drop of ale?
Mind you, I can 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’ll 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 would think it was a treat
Finding poor
Animals
What are dying in the streets
Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop
Does her business but I notice somethin’ weird
Lately all her neighbors' cats have disappeared
’Ave to hand it to her
What I calls
Enterprise
Poppin’ pussies into pies
Wouldn’t do in my shop
Just the thought of it’s enough to make you sick
And I’m tellin’ you them pussycats is quick
No denying times is hard, sir
Even harder than the worst pies in London
Only lard and nothin’ 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!