Whitey saw the girl in a bamboo cage,
Her chin at rest on her knee;
He thought she looked familiar
And said. “I guess I’d better go see”.
Sure enough, that was Queenie, all right,
His “friend” from the Cling Ting Café
The one who stood about 4 foot ten;
(Whitey was six foot three)
Well, Queenie spoke a little English
But, to Whitey, she acted dumb
And like she didn’t know him
She was quiet, still; almost numb.
Then a Chinese guard with a pole came along,
Which he pushed into the cage
And he growled as he started poking
Which sent Whitey into a blind hot rage.
The Chinese guy was Queenie’s size
Maybe five feet one, no more;
And Whitey hit the guy so hard
It broke the little cage door.
Queenie came out like a shotgun blast
With nary a “thank you please”
And while I was watching her disappear
Here come the f****n’ MPs
And while they were cuffing Whitey
And getting names and such
Whitey said, “Maybe you can find her, Bob;
Tell her I’ll be in touch.”
Two nights later at the Cling Ting Café
I spotted her through the haze
I sidled up close, and said, “Queenie, Hon,
Poor Whitey got 30 days.”