Sween' Todd,
Was a demon barber,
And his razor he applied harder down here:
Where there's respiration and the ingestion of beer.
He gave to some people a rictus grimace,
And it ranged from ear to ear,
Like a large gashed tracheal leer.

From Todd,
He and his Fleet Street crew.

Sween Todd,
He was one disturbed dude.
For a shave you'd splurge and end up on a bier.
All the expirations started infectin' with fear
Your neighbors, people who sported a grim grimace
As they hurried through the street
That was appositely named Fleet.

Lousy Todd,
Makes your maker meet you.

His place you won't leave when he's through with you.
This man is unkind; quite a few he slew;
He's a devilish dude.

Sween' Todd,
He'll give you a throat rip,
So at his mad sneer you will get a final look.
Then he'll send you off to Mrs. Lovett to cook--
She turns people into meat pies for a dinner;
I guess that's what you'd call junk food.
Oh yes, he is really one crazed Dude,
Sween' Todd.

He brings the sheaves in,
And the "sheaves" are men.

He's quite aggrieved, this madman from hell.
He'll make you dinner;
This gent is not well.
An irksome trait: he'll score your crown.
And then he's dumping dead humans down
To Lovett, who's making golden brown
Crusts in which tasty meat is found.
And let me tell you: it's not ground round.
There's a father, son. . .unholy roast.
This ain't no unleavened toasted host.
This dismal sup fare--true, it's meat
But not a treat I'd care to eat.
Lovett'll even put the feet in.

She too
Seems odd.