And so on and on the lores of Wongo go,
throughout the sands of time
Singing their song of love, so rare,
To only the chosen ones who dare

From the foggy woggy banks
of the Limpopo River,
there come the sounds of
Female ecstasy (I shiver),
Wet and wanton, their cries
caress by swollen ears, with building
fears, of this forsaken land of years
Visions of furious fire-goddesses wielding
Blunt spits; figments of erotic escapades
with all branches of armed forces
Surrounding, abounding,
they stoop to conquer with sighs and
anxious whispers in a slow, steady rhythm

Wongo
Wild Women of Wongo
How does their song go?
Make a me wan mo, (Wild Women!)
Wongo
No man can say no
Wild Women of Wongo
How does their song go?
Like this

On the dank, steaming shores of Wongo;
its black sand beaches so bongo
Patterned with leech-ridden creatures;
bodies branded with cicatrix features
that once screeched through the
Heart of the Congo
Stacked and berserk
they tower and flail all about
Wailing sounds in tongues only ancient
insects would understand or figure out
Wild, willing, wenches; strutting and
struggling, as they yank hanks of hair,
rooting and rutting in heat,
as the earth heaves beneath their feet

And so on and on the lores of Wongo go,
throughout the sands of time
Singing their song of love, so rare,
To only the chosen ones who dare

The course of events, time after time
The tradition remains the same
A bloodcurdling scream, one of pure
ecstasy, rings out; then it came ---
The ultimate sacrifice
Their wasp waisted figures twitch and twine,
their sting is lethal, and I know I'm in for mine
How can I resist this onslaught of love;
from over, from under, from behind and above
I wish I could be their Wongo King ---
If only I knew the song to sing

Wongo
Wild Women of Wongo
How does their song go?
Make a me wan mo, (Wild Women!)
Wongo
No man can say no
Wild Women of Wongo
How does their song go?
Like this