The Worst Pies In London chords by Stephen Sondheim

MRS. LOVETT:
A costumer!
A
Wait! What's your rush? What's your hurry?
You gave me such a... fright!
I thought you was a ghost!
                        A
Half a minute, can't ya sit?
         D
Sit ya down! Sit!
All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks
                        A
Did ya come here for a pie, sir?
                                      A
Do forgive me if me head's a little vague
What was that?
But you'd think we'd have the plague
A

From the way that people keep avoiding
          C#m
No, you don't!
C#m             A
Heaven knows I try, sir!
But there's no one comes in even to inhale
A         F                    C               Dm
Right you are, sir, would you like a drop of ale?
                       F#m
Mind you I can hardly blame them
C#m                      F#m
These are probably the worst pies in London
C#m                F#m
I know why nobody cares to take them
I should know
   E
I make 'em
     D#m
But good? No...
     D         C#m  F#m
The worst pies in London...
C#m                                       F#m
Even that's polite! The worst pies in London!
         C#m
If you doubt it take a bite!
   F#m
Is that just disgusting?
     C#m
You have to concede it
      E
It's nothing but crusting
      B                   D
Here drink this, you'll need it
     C#m
The worst pies in London
       C#m                      C
And no wonder with the price of meat
What it is
When you get it
Never thought I'd live to see the day
                                    F
Men'd think it was a treat findin' poor animals
C
What are dyin' in the street
F           E      A
Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop
D       A                                A
Does a business but I notice something weird
                                       A
Lately, all her neighbors cats have disappeared
Have to hand it to her!
                 E
What I calls enterprise!
A
Poppin' pussies into pies!
C#m             A
Wouldn't do in my shop!
Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick
And I'm telling you them pussycats is quick
                    F#m
No denying times is hard, sir!
C#m                  F#m
Even harder than the worst pies in London
Only lard and nothing more
Is that just revolting?
       C#m
All greasy and gritty?
     E              B
It looks like it's molting
                    D
And tastes like... Well, pity
    C#m
A woman alone!
With limited wind
         F#m   G#m       B
And the worst pies in London!
     C#m
Ah, sir
Times is hard
          F#m
Times is hard!