Job 41:30

28The arrow can’t make him flee. Sling stones are like chaff to him.

29Clubs are counted as stubble. He laughs at the rushing of the javelin.

30His undersides are like sharp potsherds, leaving a trail in the mud like a threshing sledge.

31He makes the deep to boil like a pot. He makes the sea like a pot of ointment.

32He makes a path shine after him. One would think the deep had white hair.