See the shark has teeth like razors All can read his open face And Macheath has got a knife, but Not in such an obvious place See the shark, How red his fins are As he slashes at his prey Mac the Knife wears white kid gloves which Give the minimum away
By the Thames turbid waters, Men abruptly tumble down Is it plague, or is it cholera? Or a sign Macheath's in town?
On a beautiful blue Sunday, See a corpse stretched on the Strand See a man dodge around the corner... Mackie's friend's will understand.
And the ghastly fire in Soho, Seven children at a go In the crowd stands Mac the knife, but He's not asked and doesn't know