Midst cobbl’d streets o’ London, plied their trade
(Connected by dank passage hid from view)
Twas here ‘The Demon Barber’ scraped his blade
Whilst she the ‘Baker’s Wife’ shaped pastry too
In ‘penny dreadful’ was their story told
As men of substance met with coup-de-grâce
Their bodies robbed, before each one was sold
In crusty pies, to those of working class
All trace of flesh and bones boil’d down for fill
With prices slash’d befitting their demise
Twud lead to hoi-polloi becoming ill
Complaining that the meat was “mostly thighs”
Just one escaped the chair (who claim’d close shave)
Perhaps not quite the ‘taste’ man-eaters crave
Richard
