| Song | Wild Women Of Wongo |
| Artist | The Tubes |
| Album | Outside Inside |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Tubes | |
| 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... |
| zuo ci : Tubes | |
| 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 firegoddesses 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 leechridden 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... |
| zuò cí : Tubes | |
| 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 firegoddesses 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 leechridden 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... |