The whistler was a policeman He whistled when he wrote a ticket One citizen was so incensed He told the officer to stick it. But the officer understood. He had heard complaints before. They seemed to miss the point As what this whistling was for.
They didn’t realize that he Whistled as well when nervous. He monitored himself carefully When he was in the service. War is often no kind of place To be making unwitting noise. He was reprimanded by The officer and the boys.
But Sam, the whistling cop Had done so all his life He whistled different ways Even like a sailor’s fife. He could trill like a bird And do the best of all; That kind of whistle That wonderful taxi call.
It was an amazing to hear; He could whistle too From the side of his face So you had no idea who Was making that music As his lips were not pursed. That made it more maddening To a few people that cursed.
As part of his job, one day, A hotelier called him in To deal with the issue Of a dead resident within. Sam hated blood and death. It made him quite queasy. So, he went about this task But for him, it was not easy.
With a dead body in his arms Quaking with internal fear The hotelier objected to his song Sam asked what he wanted to hear. He was whistling The Blue Waltz’ In his pitch perfect rendition To keep his mind off of the corpse And off of his own condition.
But, oh boy, could he whistle Making music in every day. Creating lasting memories I recall up until this day. That officer, Sam, you see Too often in a spot of bother Was known as Whistling Sam And was also my father.