Of Salvadore the Celery King I sing. 
Illiterate in Lewiston, he'd wander, 
so I'm told, into the ladies' john 
and, barring ladies, not suspect a thing. 
But when it came to celery, he was king. 
And when he died, the Idaho Daily Sun 
said: Salvadore the Celery King Moves On. 
The celery hung its head, remembering.

Sometimes I think I'll wind down Lewiston Hill 
(where winding up and winding down's the same 
except for purpose), enter past the mill 
and, turning to face the crowd, announce my name:
"Gary, son of Dom the son of Salvadore 
the King, whose throne I've come to claim."