Well Mary was a la** From the lower cla** She was an Irish emigree When she arrived in New York In a kitchen she found work Cooking meals in the Bowery In that kitchen Mary baked And never took a break And the people wolfed it down But bellies growled More than they should From eating all they could 'Til they were buried in the ground Oh Mary, Typhoid Mary Your kitchen wasn't clean The dead are dead I reckon Because they asked for seconds Your kitchen wasn't clean The city was scared And began to despair Where could this plague Come from so crude? And the cops began to wonder Why all those gone asunder Had eaten Mary Mallon's food So like a crook she was sought And Mary was caught The charge she did not understand Her stools were tested And Mary was arrested If only she'd washed her hands Oh Mary, Typhoid Mary Your kitchen wasn't clean The dead are dead I reckon Because they asked for seconds Your kitchen wasn't clean In the hands of the state She died in thirty eight The advice her survivors left - If a meal makes you faint Then make a complaint And ask to see the chef