The Worst Pies in London

Stephen SondheimStephen Sondheim 

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Stephen Sondheim

Stephen Joshua Sondheim ( /ˈsɒnd.haɪm/) (born March 22, 1930) is an American composer and lyricist known for his contributions to musical theatre. He is the winner of an Academy Award, eight Tony Awards including the Special Tony Award for Lifetime Achievement in the Theatre, multiple Grammy Awards, a Pulitzer Prize and the Laurence Olivier Award. Described by Frank Rich of the New York Times as "now the greatest and perhaps best-known artist in the American musical theater", his most famous works include (as composer and lyricist) A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, Company, Follies, A Little Night Music, Sweeney Todd, Sunday in the Park with George and Into the Woods. He also wrote the lyrics for West Side Story and Gypsy. more »

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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 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
Ugh, what is that?
Bet you'd think we had the plague
From the way the people keep avoiding
No, you don't

Have another try, sir
Ugh, but there's no one even comes in to inhale
Right, you was, sir, 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 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
What are dying in the street

Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop
Does her business but I noticed something weird
Lately all her neighbors cats have disappeared
Have 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 pussy cats is quick

No denying times is hard, sir
Even harder then 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

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