Mrs. Lovett: [continues singing] 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.
[finishes singing]
Mrs. Lovett: Trust me, dearie, it's gonna take a lot more than ale to wash that taste out. Come with me; we'll get you a nice tumbler of gin, eh?