Oh, the poor shark
Yes, the sweet shark
It has big teeth
Buried deep
Then there's Macheath
With his big knife
But it's hidden
In his slip
And this same shark
This poor sweet shark
It sheds red blood
When it bleeds
Mackie Big Knife
Wears a white glove
Pure in word and
Pure in deed
Sunday morning
Lovely blue sky
There's a corpse stretched
On the Strand
Who's the man cruisin'
The corner?
Well, it's Mackie
Knife in hand
Jenny Towler
Poor wee Jenny
There they found her
Knife in breast
Mackie's wandering
On the West Pier
Hoping only
For the best
Mind, that fire burnt
All through Soho
Seven kids dead
One old flower
Hey there, Mackie
How is she cuttin'?
Have another
Hold your hour
And those sweet babes
Under sixteen
Story goes that
Black and blue
For the price of
One good screwing
Mackie, Mackie
How could you?
For the price of
One good screwing
Mackie, Mackie
How could you?
© BERT BRECHT; ESTATE OF MARC BLITZSTEIN; KURT WEILL FOUNDATION FOR MUSIC;
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