Where Are You Mr. Wong?

BACK IN 1995
Which most of us survived
There was a strange event
   In the City of Angels
A drunken driver was beaten
By a gang of cop cretins
Filmed, the case went to trial
There was no denial
"Not Guilty" was the verdict
In case you had not hear it
Before you could say Rodney King
Crowds were grabbing
Breaking into stores
Stealing stuff
Kicking down doors
It was a riot my friends
That did not end
Till the part of the city
Our ghetto, not pretty
Was burned where they stood
The houses were wood
The blackest part of the city burned
With the blackest smoke
Homes that hard work had earned
Whole blocks deforested and yet
Folks got the present of TV sets
Looting the stores up on Sunset

There stood a little grocery store
Three store fronts or more
On Santa Monica Boulevard near Nor-
   mandy a local place
That was plain to see
Where you might buy
    beans and lettuce
    tacos or wonder bread
    bug spray and cigarettes
    a bottle of booze
    toilet tissue to use
There was no major grocery store
    nearby. You needed a car or
   if you knew how to fly
You might get to shop and reap
   goods plentiful and cheap
I and the local poor
   mostly Latinos
   frequented that little store
   as well as a few winos for more
The old man who tended the grocery
   vegi's and fruit was Mr. Wong,
A Chinaman, can you use that word
Or is it wrong?
We try to be politically correct
I've hear that song
But he was Chinese, you know
And a man, oh
He chased the fruit flies away  
Kept the place real clean
I had met him when I lived near bye
I knew he was a pleasant guy

They say time cures all
After days of rioting
The calm began to fall
Folk were cleaning up
Rebuilding all
When the riot smoke had cleared
A sign appeared
   in the window of the little store
I saw it there for six months or more
The sign said,
   "Where are you Mr. Wong?"
I was curious so stopped my car along
The curb and asked one day
What the sign meant?
This is what they had to say
Mr. Wong was missing
No one knew where he went to stay
Some say he's back in China
Or he moved to Anaheim
    not far away
Where his sister lived for some time
Some said he was burned alive
When rioters set on fire
    apartment number five
The storeowner said he'd gone to see
They'd burned every house on the block
    and every tree
So he guessed Mr. Wong was a casualty

Some tales end up bad
   other just so so
Some turn out better than good
You never really know
Last month I had
   just about forgotten Mr. Wong
I was in Las Vegas for a weekend long
There's a call girl who I visit periodically
We like to have sex very methodically
On the roof of her desert home we
   make love for hours
Surrounded by desert cactus flowers
Followed by a swim in the nude
Vegas is at that latitude
Where it is warm most of the time
Although there is a wind
That will blow the chimes
Right off the walls
   or freeze your balls
Sometimes we are joined by her sister
Who was once her brother, a mister
But has been reassigned
   with a vagine
And enough hormones and plastic
He, I mean she, looks fantastic
Talk about oral skills
This gal can give you thrills
That send ripples and chills
But that is a story for another rhyme
Right now you probably don't have time
To hear about how she gives head
Back to Mr. Wong presumed dead
So after an afternoon of sexation
Off to the casino for relaxation
A bit of flinging the dice
While they were throwing rice
   on two hapless married sweethearts
In the wedding chapel
   just off the casino
   who sundered by
You might have guessed
Every gal and guy
Must enter and exit thru the casino room
Before they get to honey moon
I was standing by the crap table
  for some diversion
  before dinner
When a high roller's incursion
With a cowboy hat started hitting
   his point without quitting
A crowd gathered to cheer his run in
I joined betting a hundred he would win
And was five hundred ahead when
I took a good look and then
I saw where my benefactor sat
A slender Asian in a cowboy hat
With big sunglasses and a leather vest
A sheriff's badge and two toy guns
Looked like a tourist in for some fun
Surprising me, I'd have never been alarmed
When a tiny Chinese girl holding onto his arm
With large plastic tits
   and a whole lot of charm
Shouted out,
  "Mr. Wong you hot, you warm"
And I'll be damned she wasn't wrong
It was Mr. Wong
From Normandy and Santa Monica
Raking in a pile of chips
With a mama
   he called "Sugar Tits"
I rushed forward,
 "Mr. Wong, it's me
Where have you been?"
"Off to see the world, you see  
I'm not going back to grocery bins
The world is a lot bigger
    then a prison cell
A daily job like that's not swell
I gamble a bit every day
Put my math skills to the test
   in every way
Back in China I was an Engineer
I'm doing real well in Vegas here
But don't tell anyone you saw me today
You never know what my wife would say"

So I left him there with a pile
of chips and a sexy girl's smile
His cowboy hat and her hand on his luck
   -y cock, I guess he wasn't too old to fuck
You never know how life turns out
Who will cry and who will shout
But if you want to know,
Where is Mr. Wong?
He's upstairs with Sugar Tit's
And if I know anything
    about Chinese girls
She's playing with his dong