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I'll sing you a story of a silly young king
Who played with the world at the end of a string.
But he only loved one single thing --
And that was just a peanut butter sandwich.
His sceptre, wand, his royal gowns,
His regal throne and golden crowns
Were brown and sticky from the mounds
And drippings from each peanut butter sandwich.
His subjects all were silly fools
For he had passed a royal rule
That all that they could learn in school
Was how to make a peanut-butter sandwich.
He would not eat his sovereign steak,
He scorned his soup and kingly cake,
And told his courtly cook to bake
An extra-sticky peanut butter sandwich.
And then one day he took a bite
And started chewing with delight,
But found his mouth was stuck quite tight
From that last bite of peanut butter sandwich.
His brother pulled, his sister pried,
The wizard pushed, his mother cried,
"My boy's committed suicide
From eating his last peanut butter sandwich!"
The dentist came, and the royal doc.
The royal plumber banged and knocked,
But still those jaws stayed tightly locked.
Oh darn that sticky peanut butter sandwich!
The carpenter, he tried with pliers,
The telephone man tried with wires,
The firemen, they tried with fire,
But couldn't melt that peanut butter sandwich.
With ropes and pulleys, drills and coil,
With steam and lubricating oil --
For twenty years of tears and toil --
They fought that awful peanut butter sandwich.
Then all his royal subjects came.
They hooked his jaws with grapplin' chains
And pulled both ways with might and main
Against that stubborn peanut butter sandwich.
Each man and woman, girl and boy
Put down their ploughs and pots and toys
And pulled until, kerack! Oh, joy --
They broke right through that peanut-butter sandwich.
A puff of dust, a screech, a squeak --
The kin's jaw opened with a creak.
And then in voice so faint and weak --
The first words that they heard him speak
Were, "How about a peanut butter sandwich?"
By
Shel Silverstein
