The Mama brought me home a gift,
handed in the kitchen on the sly.

Half empty it were, contents known
quite well to her stomach.

I didn’t mind. No way, not at all.
It sat there in my hand, all round and brown
and smooth and melty,
Lookin’ up at me with some degree of pride.

There ain’t nothin’ better than a peanut butter cup
after hours upon hours of sufferin’ and labor.
Vexations run from peanut butter cups.

I just couldn’t hep myself. I cried out so loud,
with such gratitude but sadness too, that
“Jesus never had no peanut butter cup!”

I saw numbers of tears runnin’ down
the Mama’s face, and felt them too.

Oh, Jesus, when we see you,
we’re gonna bring you
a peanut butter cup!

Then one day I went to heaven.
It don’t matter how.

Things were mighty different;
most of all the crowds
who packed the public square
hopin’ to see Jesus.

I kept wonderin’ what to say
if ever I had a chance to meet him.

He might look at me and say,
“What did you do that counted for much?”
It was a quandary, I can tell you.

I got in line and told the feller
that I needed to see Jesus.
“Oh?” he said.

“I’ve got a gift for him. A surprise.”
He let me through, not sure why.

If ever you meet Jesus, I can say for sure,
calm your fears.

He looked at me and
I looked at him and
gave him the peanut butter cup
I had brought along.

One bite is all it took.
He just smiled and smiled,
and had himself another bite.

I can’t say no more about it.