Mr Sweeney
Down it trickles,slowly,slowly,To a place most unholy.
Through the drain it makes it journey,
The bitter stench is quite unearthly.
Bath, roll, lick and savour,
Vermin taste Mr Brown's sweet flavour.
Above the ground there is no notion,
Of any sort of commotion.
But he knows better, does Mr Red,
Too bad really, that he's dead.
Maybe the hag in the streets,
Isn't as crazy as the people she meets.
She warned them, many times, I recall,
But over those pies they still drool.
Now poor Lucy's throat is slit,
Reality still, has not hit.
It seems the Sweeney cannot be stopped,
His murder rate has never been topped.
But Mrs Lovett's secret is out,
She gave it away, with a shout.
You see, dear Lucy was meant to be dead,
At least that's what Mrs Lovett said.
Now Mr Sweeney is quite confused,
He's left young Joanna just a little bruised.
Then Mr Sweeney saw it,
There was only one thing for it.
Into the oven Mrs Lovett flew,
From which, the scent of burning flesh grew.
Then over the body of dear, sweet Lucy,
Mr Sweeney bled profusely.
Over London, will Sweeney forever hail,
But for now, at least...
This is the end of his twisted tale.
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