Mushnik & Son
Mushnik: He'll think about it? He'll think about it? Seymour: I don't like that guy, Mr. Mushnik. You should hear the way he talks to Audrey. Mushnik: Gott in himmel, no. The kid just said he'd mull it over! Seymour: No wonder she looks so unhealthy. It's enough to make you sick. Mushnik: If he left me If Seymour left me Why then I'd be right back where I started which was broke and starving. Seymour: Sweet and good and beautiful as she is, she deserves a prince, not a sadistic creep like him! Mushnik: Close to bankrupt. Seymour: What a louse. Mushnik: Beset, befuddled, and bereft. That's what I'd be if Seymour left. Seymour: He's a disgrace to the dental profession. (An idea comes to Mushnik) Mushnik: Seymour! Seymour: Sir? Mushnik: Seymour? How would you like to be my son? How would you like to be my own adopted boy? (aside) I never liked him much before, But count the cash that's in the drawer I've got no choice- I'm much too poor- Say yes
SEYMOUR. What for?
MUSHNIK. Seymour I want to be your dad. I want to see you climbing up my family tree. I used to think you left a stench, but now I see that you're a mench, so I'm proposing be my son! Mushnik and Son. Sound great? Three words with the ring of fate. So say you'll incorporate with me. A florist's dream come true. Mushnik and his boychik, you. What business we'll do for F.T.D. [ From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/mushnik-son-joe-pans-version-lyrics-little-shop-of-horrors.html ] How bout' it, Seymour? Be my son! Just say the word, I'll have my lawyer on the phone! Seymour: Now, Mr. Mushnik, don't be rash. You always said that I was trash. Mushnik: (Grabs Seymour by the throat) Oh, I was Joking! Seymour: Sir, I'm choking! Mushnik: Scuse the physical expression of my pride of the sweet paternal mishegoss I've held pent-up--insi-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ide! Seymour: Gee.
Seymour: Well. Mushnik: Well? Seymour: I? Mushnik: You! Mushnik: Go ahead and say it, Seymour. Tell me that you will... Seymour: Gee, I'd really like to, but... Mushnik: I'll hold my breath until... (Holds his breath) Seymour: Okay...you win...I'll be your son! Mushnik: Hooray, I win! He'll be my son! Seymour: Draw up the papers, dad. I'm touched, I really am. And someday when you're eighty-three. I'll let you come move in with me. Mushnik: You swear? Seymour: I promise!
Mushnik: What a son! Both: Mushnik and Son, that's that! Seymour: Officially I'm your brat! Both: Consider the matter closed and done. Now, to the world, let's stick. Our senior and Junior shtick. Through thin and through thick. Through sloppy and slick. Seymour: So come kiss me quick! Mushnik: Please don't make me sick. Both: Mushnik and Son!!!
Mushnik & Son