Remark the cat
Who hesitates toward 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's haunted many a low resort
Near the grimy road of Tottenham Court
She flitted about the No-mans 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