ON BUSES AND BOATS THROUGHOUT THE TRIP, I KEPT BUSY BY WRITING A SONG ABOUT CAMBODIA. TRY TO IMAGINE A METH-ADDLED ARLO GUTHRIE ON BROADWAY, AND YOU’LL HAVE SOME IDEA HOW THIS IS SUPPOSED TO SOUND:

Well, I know this li’l country that
borders on Siam,
Got a lot of li’l cities, like Siem
Reap and Kampong Cham
They grow a little rice there,
pound their fish into a paste
They eat it ev’ry day there: Want some? Have a taste!
They got pepper, gems, and timber,
checkered scarves and red snow, too
All their dancers are quite limber,
but that fish paste tastes like poo—

But Cam-bo-di-a has one
resource that never will run dry
And it ain’t land mines, it ain’t
prahok, it ain’t street kids who cry—

[spoken] Whadda they got?
They— got— a— whole lotta wat
And it sure is hot.
Got a whole lotta wat
At the toilets you squat
Got a whole lotta wat
People often get shot
Got a whole lotta wat
And they got Kampot
Got a whole lotta wat
And they got Pol Pot
Got a whole lotta wat
And they got Pol Pot—

Well, the temples are enormous,
the biggest one they call Angkor
But it was sacked back in 1431,
when the Thai king launched his war
Then the jungles took over, and the empire was lost
Till the French hit the scene, said, “We’re the new boss”
They dug up the trees and cut down the vines
Imported their Peugeots, their villas, their wines
But forced labor, however, and a lack of free will
Sure pissed off the people, who were ready to kill
Till crazy Prince Sihanouk brokered a deal
Got Paris to give up and say: “Do whatever you feel”

[spoken] Fifty years later, whadda they got?
They— got— a— whole lotta wat
And it sure is hot
Got a whole lotta wat
Tie your krama in a knot
Got a whole lotta wat
Eat a pizza topped with pot
Got a whole lotta wat
And some naked tots
Got a whole lotta wat

You can fly Aeroflot
Got a whole lotta wat
And they got Pol Pot
Got a whole lotta wat
And they got Pol Pot

Now back in 1975, Cambodia wasn’t doin’ well
The Khmer Rouge, they took control, made the place a living hell In black pj’s and liar’s smiles,
while the world held its breath
They laid land mines and chopped off heads and worked everyone to death
On one cupful of rice per day,
Cambodia slowly starved
And Pol Pot’s cronies destroyed their patrimony, and stole statues that their ancestors carved
Till one fine day, Vietnam came a-knocking,
And chased Pol Pot till his knees they were, uh… a-knocking
[pause]

[spoken] Well, then a whole lot more
crazy shit happened, but I’m, uh, saving
that for another song. Yeah.

To—day—

The god-king beams down from the spires of Bayon
And every little schoolgirl sports a Nokia cell phone
Banteay Srey is cut from pink sandstone
And expats in bikinis call Sihanoukville home
So eat your curried noodles and drink a Côtes du Rhone
And finish it off with an ice cream cone
But don’t forget your life on Earth is just a short-term loan
And the dirt beneath your sandals is mixed with blood and bone…

And Cam-bo-di-a has one resource that never will run dry
And it ain’t land mines, it ain’t fish paste, it ain’t spiders deep-fried—

[spoken] And whadda they got?

Got a whole lotta wat
And it sure is hot
Got a whole lotta wat
And a history pretty fraught
Got a whole lotta wat
And no Pol Pot
Got a whole lotta wat
No more Pol Pot
Got a whole lotta wat
And they got Kampot
Got a whole lotta wat
And it sure. Is. Hot.