There she blows, Jacques Cousteau

Hear her sing so sweet and low

Lull me overboard, out cold

Gathered in and swallowed whole

You just hit me where I live

I guess it looked quite primitive

What was that supposed to prove?

Throw the calf or he'll throw you

Sucked in by the victim world

Thirsty as a cultured pearl

Culled and wooed, bitten, chewed

It won't hurt if you don't move

Musical chairs, double dares, memorized stairs

Shooting off flares, springtime hares, broken-down mares

Cowered phones, big soup stones, prideless loans

Grill-sick crows, motel moans and big fat Jones

Martyrs don't do much for me

Though I enjoy them vicariously

After you, no, after me

No, I insist, please, after me

Oh do it