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'Thar she blows!' the cry goes up
a breaching whale is seen
The longboat's manned and low'red
the lookout's eyes were keen

The hunt begins, the whalers chant
the oarsmen strain and pull
The whaling ship won't turn for port
'til her holds are full

The boat seems small, the men seem weak
beside the mighty whale
but it's gentle nature seals it's fate
the harpoon never fails

The sea is churned to bloody red
the whale takes hours to die
but no-one there bemoans its fate
no tears in whaler's eyes

The killing done the mighty beast
is cut and torn apart
It's oil and perfume that combine 
to still the giant's heart

The days of sail soon fade away
a spear becomes a gun
now gas is used to float the beast
when all the killing's done

Just when it seems that all is lost
that all the whales will die
the world begins to count the cost
of slaughter, greed and lies

The gentle giants of the sea
are saved from death and pain
We never should have hunted them
and never should again

To see them float with lazy grace 
to spout and roll and dive
To touch their calves, a fluke's embrace
be glad they're still alive

It's very hard to understand
why some still want to kill
Their claims of scientific culls
are lies that make me ill

Let's let the gentle giants live
in peace beneath the waves
for once they do it's more than whales
that we will then have saved

From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"

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