The Candy King Story

Candy King

In England lived a boy so vile,
At breakfast he’d devour a pile
Of the most boldly flavoured sweets
And sticky, gooey chocolate treats.
Cola cubes and jelly snakes,
Fifteen giant birthday cakes,
Flying saucers, sherbet dips,
Bubblegum and cherry lips.

With breakfast down you’d think that he
Had eaten quite enough to be
All set to switch to healthy fare.
There's food that isn't junk out there!
Alas, just sweeties would suffice.
To him these treats were paradise.
“I’m absolutely fine and dandy
Eating this delightful candy,”
He cried aloud as he shoved in
Four hundred biscuits from the tin.

The biscuits were his pre-lunch snack
Before he launched a full attack

Upon his favourite dark lagoon
Of melted chocolate (with a spoon).
You’d think by now he’d had enough
Of all this sweet and sticky stuff.
But then you’d hear the shouts of “Mum,
I need a tub of chewing gum!”

He’d chew and chomp and munch and gnaw,
Until he could not move his jaw,
Then swap the gum for seven cases,
Filled with bright red cherry laces.
Before he went to bed he’d glug
Six pints of soda from a jug,
Then quickly rush back down the stairs
And wolf a tub of gummy bears.

Some people even said his dreams
Were filled with chocolate raspberry creams.
And as he slept he stuffed his chops
With sugar coated lemon drops.

But then one day the little boy,
(While playing with his favourite toy),
Screamed out “Oh Mummy! Have you seen,
My hair has turned the brightest green!”
His Mum looked over, terrified.
“Your skin’s turned purple too!” she cried.
“With quite disgusting yellow spots
And little orange polka dots.”

“Oh no!” he said. “What shall we do?”
“I’m taking you to Dr Sue!
I’m sure,” said mum, “that she will know.
Put your shoes on, quick, let’s go!”
His mother rushed him to the doc,
Who looked at him with utter shock.
“In all my days I’ve never seen
A boy look like a jelly bean!
Dear boy,” she said, “I have a cure,
But you must promise me that you’re
Prepared to change your habits now.
You'll eat your veggies, you must vow.”

He said, “I will be good as gold
Until I turn eighteen years old.”
“Right, that's good enough,” she said,
(The boy now face down on the bed.)
“OK, hold still then while I pump
This medicine into your rump!”
The antidote then filled his veins,
And through the awful groans and pains
He shouted out, “I’ll never eat
Another blooming nasty sweet!”

He tried a turnip, crunched a carrot.
“My!” he said, “these veg have merit!
Grapes and plums are plenty sweet!
And beets,” he thought, “cannot be beat!”
And, sure enough, from that point on,
His sweetie-eating days were gone!

The End