In a cafe down in Hawthorn
That serves magic pies
A taste, and it will become an addiction
It was famous far and wide
Everyone wanted a bit of the magic pie.

I asked the owner one day
“What is the secret to the magic pies?”
He replied,
“The secret is in the kitchen.”
And smiled a wide grin.

One night, in the dead of the night
I picked the kitchen lock to discover
the secret of the pies

To my astonishment, there was an old woman
With a big metal ball chained to her ankle
Her hands feverishly rolling the dough on the table
There was a thousand pies stacked up to the ceiling!

She looked at me with her red sinister eyes
Her skin as pale as white flour
And gave a ghostly shriek
That sent me running away.