The Ballad of the Oregon Highway Department
The song is a capella.
In nineteen and seventy our story begins:
A sperm whale was washed up on shore.
And people did notice, as an eight ton dead beast
Can be a bit hard to ignore.
It became a curiosity and people stopped by
To see what washed up from the sea.
Then it started to stink, and soon all did agree
That the beach should be made dead whale-free.
The government considered just who would be best
to resolve the large problem at hand.
The highway department was given the task
of removing the whale from the land.
Now when you've a hammer, it's often been said,
Every problem resembles a nail.
So when you've a truckload of dynomite,
You can bet that you'll annihilate that whale.
A crowd gathered round, for it's not every day
That you'll see a whale blowed up real good,
And the seagulls were there, for their gull senses told them
There'd soon be no shortage of food.
The crowd roared its approval at the whale's quick removal
Then the pieces, they rained on back down.
Though nobody was killed, bits of blubber still filled
Every inch of that Oregon town.
On this scene I will now draw a curtain, my friends,
But I'll give you some final imagery:
Of the insurance adjuster who got the report
Of a whale attack a half mile from sea.