Oliver!

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Is it worth the waiting for

If we live till 94?

All we ever get is gruel

Every day we say our prayer

Will they change the bill of fare?

Still we get the same old gruel!

There's not a crust

Not a crumb can we find

Can we beg, can we borrow or cadge

But there's nothing to stop us

from getting a thrill

When we all close our eyes and imagine

Food, glorious food!

Hot sausage and mustard!

While we're in the mood

Cold jelly and custard!

Peas, pudding and saveloys!

What next is the question

Rich gentlemen have it, boys

Indigestion!

Food!

We're anxious to try it

Three banquets a day

Our favorite diet!

Just picture a great big steak

Fried, roasted or stewed

Oh, food!

Wonderful food!

Marvelous food!

Glorious food!

Food, glorious food!

Don't care what it looks like

Burnt, underdone, crude

Don't care what the cook's like

Just thinking of growing fat

Our senses go reeling

One moment of knowing that

Full-up feeling!

Food, glorious food!

What wouldn't we give for

That extra bit more

That's all that we live for

Why should we be fated to

Do nothing but brood

Oh, food

Magical food

Wonderful food

Marvelous food

Heavenly food

Beautiful food

Glorious food!

For what you are about to receive

May the Lord make you truly thankful

Amen

Please, sir, I want some more.

What?

Please, sir,

I want some more.

More?

- Catch him!

- Snatch him!

- Hold him!

- Scold him!

Pounce him! Trounce him!

Pick him up and bounce him!

Wait!

Before we take the lad to task

May I be so curious as to ask

his name?

Oliver

Oliver Twist, Mr. Bumble.

- You named him so yourself.

- So that's who he is!

Oliver! Oliver!

Never before has a boy wanted more!

Oliver! Oliver!

Won't ask for more

when he knows what's in store

There's a dark, thin, winding

Stairway without any banister

Which we'll throw him down

And feed him on cockroaches

Served in a canister

Oliver! Oliver!

What will he do

when he's turned black and blue?

He will rue the day

Somebody named him Oliver!

Oliver, Oliver

Never before has a boy wanted more!

Oliver! Oliver!

Won't ask for more

when he knows what's in store

There's a long, thin, winding

Stairway without any banister

Which we'll throw him down

And feed him on cockroaches

Served in a canister

Oliver! Oliver!

What, heavens pray, will the governors say?

They will lay the blame

On the one who named him

Oliver!

- Out!

- Out!

One boy

Boy for sale

He's going cheap

How much, then?

Only seven guineas

How much?

That or thereabout

Fine boy

Boy for sale

He's yours to keep

For 1,000 pennies

You can work it out

That's four pounds, three and four

Slightly under four guineas

Knocked down from seven guineas

Three pounds, ten shillings.

Three pounds what, sir?

Certainly not, sir

Any advance on three pounds ten, then?

Going

Gone

I could not say

He isn't very greedy

I dare not

I'd be telling you a tale

One boy

Boy for sale

Come take a peek

Have you ever seen

as nice a boy

for sale?

- How much did you say?

- Only three guineas, Mr. Sowerberry.

- A bargain, if ever there was one.

- I was looking for a boy.

All right, bring him in, Mr. Bumble.

Bring him in.

Ah, my love.

I said we might consider taking this boy

to help in the shop.

Dear me. He's very small.

Oh, he is rather small, there's no denying,

but he'll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry. He'll grow.

I daresay he will.

On our vittles and our drink!

These workhouse boys

always cost more than they're worth.

- Where did he come from?

- Mother came to us destitute.

She brings a child into the world,

takes one look at him and promptly dies

without leaving so much

as a forwarding name and address.

So here he is, yours for three guineas,

as agreed. Cash on delivery.

Oh, no. No, Mr. Bumble, no, no.

Cash upon liking. A week on approval.

If we get enough work out of him

without putting too much food into him,

- then we'll keep him.

- But he's...

He can help Noah Claypole

put the shutters up. Do you hear, now?

Then he can clean out the stables,

fill the lamps and sweep the yard.

I'll look after him, missus.

You see, my dear, it occurred to me

that he'd make a delightful coffin-follower.

That expression of melancholy.

It's very interesting,

don't you think so, my love?

I don't mean a regular coffin-follower

to attend grown-up people, no, no, no,

just at children's funerals.

A mute in proportion, so to speak?

Precisely. A superb effect,

don't you think so, my love?

Do you think you could look

like that gentleman up there?

Perhaps, if I had a tall hat.

Look, it's Oliver!

- Noah, come on.

- No.

How's your mother, workhouse?

You leave my mother out of it. She's dead.

What did she die of? Shortage of breath?

You'd better not say anything

about her to me.

Don't you be cheeky, workhouse.

Your mother, she was a nice one.

A regular right-down bad one, she was.

What did you say?

It's a good thing she died when she did,

'cause she'd been in prison

doing hard labor...

Help! Help!

Get away, you! Get away from him!

What's going on down here?

What are you trying to do,

wake up the dead or something?

It's you, you little... Get out of here!

He started it!

Come here, you!

- Quick!

- Put the lid on.

Oh, dear!

I'm going off. Water!

Noah, run over to the workhouse.

Get Mr. Bumble. Tell him to come quick.

Well, where is he?

Where is the young rascal?

- Oliver?

- Yes, I'm here!

- Do you know this here voice, Oliver?

- Yes, I do!

Well, ain't you afraid of it, Oliver?

Ain't you a-trembling when I speak, Oliver?

No, I'm not!

He's gone mad, Mr. Bumble. Or he wouldn't

dare to speak to you like that.

It's not madness, ma'am, it's meat.

- Meat?

- Meat, ma'am, meat! You overfed the boy.

You raised an artificial spirit in the lad

unbecoming to his station in life.

This would never have happened

if you kept him on gruel.

- Gruel?

- I'll be glad to give you the recipe.

- Well, well, well. Having a rest, Mr. Bumble?

- He's sitting on Oliver.

- Quite right. We must all sit on Oliver.

- You been drinking again?

- I met a friend in the cemetery.

- Help!

Who's in there?

That coffin should not have been occupied

until tomorrow.

It's reserved for a very important client.

Stand back!

Now, then. What's your explanation,

you young scallywag?

He called my mum a name.

And what if he did,

you ungrateful little wretch?

She deserved what he said and worse.

- She didn't!

- She did!

- It's a lie!

- Hold your tongue, boy!

Put him down in the cellar, Mr. Bumble.

That'll teach him.

- My love?

- Yes!

It's really quite comfortable.

You'll stay down there

till we decide what's to be done with you.

And here's your baggage, workhouse.

Three pounds, indeed!

You can take him back.

Where is love?

Does it fall from skies above?

Is it underneath the willow tree

That I've been dreaming of?

Where is she

Who I close my eyes to see?

Will I ever know the sweet hello

That's meant for only me?

Who can say where she may hide?

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