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Remark the cat who hesitates towards you
In the light of the door
Which opens on her
Like a grin
You see the border of her coat
Is torn and stained with sand
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin
She haunted many a low resort
Near the grimy road of Tottenham Court
She flitted about the no-man's land
From The Rising Sun to the Friend At Hand
And the postman sighed
As he scratched his head
You'd really have thought she ought to be dead
And who would ever suppose that that
Was Grizabella, the glamour cat?
Grizabella, the glamour cat
Grizabella, the glamour cat
Who'd have ever supposed that that
Was Grizabella, the glamour cat?
