He’s trying desperately, this whale,
To put his head beneath his tail.
He’s frightened because someone’s told
Him that his stomach’s turning to gold –
And as you know, with whales and weasels,
When one turns gold, he’s got the measles.
As a matter of fact, our friend has not.
He’s only slipped on a treacle-pot
Dropped from the deck of a submarine
By the cabin-boy, who was feeling green.
– by Christopher Isherwood