Menu Close



written by The Tubes

The Wild Women of Wongo was a 1958 b-movie directed by James L. Wolcott. Although this trashy movie was poorly acted and crafted, it reached a cult status among the lovers of silly films. Who else could have written a song to go with it but the legendary rock band The Tubes? The group’s drummer, Prairie Prince, said that he loved that movie so much that he decided to write a song about it.

Consequently, San Francisco’s flamboyant rockers wrote “Wild Women Of Wongo” for their 1983 album, Outside Inside. The song was a parody of the movie with nonsense lyrics delivered by an effective spoken-word voice on top of a spectacular funky beat. David Foster produced Outside Inside and the match of his top-notch pop vibe, extreme care of the arrangements and superior sonic bravura found a miraculous balance with The Tubes’ dirty, weird, fascinating rock world. “Wild Women Of Wongo” had an enthralling backing track, infectious rhythm, funky guitars, percussions and tight horns. Jerry Hey and his celebrated horn section added so much to the tune with their pyrotechnical playing on the choruses and the wild break towards the song’s end. “Wild Women Of Wongo” was just one of the standout tracks onOutside Inside. That album included the hit single “She’s A Beauty,” “Tip Of MyTongue” and “The Monkey Time,” They are testament of a special, unique collaboration that resulted in some of the Hitman’s most different and captivating work ever.


[audio:|titles=Wild Women Of Wongo|artists=Fee Waybill]

Lead Vocals: Fee Waybill
Drums: Prairie Prince
Bass: Rick Anderson
Keyboards: David Foster
Keyboards & Vocals: Vince Velnick
Synthesizers: Michael Cotten
Guitars & Vocals: Bill Spooner & Roger Steen
Percussion: Mingo Lewis
Trumpets: Jerry Hey, Gary Grant & Chuck Findley
Trombone: Bill Reichenbach
Saxophone: Larry Williams & Gary Herbig
Horn Arrangement: Jerry Hey
Produced by David Foster


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. 

Wild Women of Wongo.
How does their song go?
Make a me wan mo, (Wild Women!)
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