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Peanut-Butter Sandwich

by Shel Silverstein (1932-1999)

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 scepter and 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 king’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?”