Sultans Of Swing

You get a shiver in the dark. It's raining in the park of mean time

Sound of the river is stopping you hold everything a band is blowing Dixie double ball time

You feel all right when you hear the music rain

The light step inside, but you don't see too many faces

Coming in out of the rain to hear the jazz go down

Competition in other places, but the horns, they blowin' that sound.

Way on down south, way on down south, London town.

You check out Guitar George, he knows all the chords.

Mine is strictly rhythm, he doesn't wanna make me cry or sing.

If an old guitar is all he can afford, when he gets up under the lights to play his thing,

then Harry doesn't mind if he doesn't make the scene.

He's got a daytime job, he's doing all right, he can play the honky-tonk like anything.

Saving it up, Friday night, with the Southerns,

with the Southerns off swing.

And a crowd of young boys, they're

fooling around in the corner, drunken

dressed in their fat brown baggies and their platform

soles.

They don't give a damn about any trumpet playing band.

It ain't what they call rock and roll.

And the Sultans, yeah, the Sultans play Creole, Creole blues.

And then the man, he steps right up to the microphone

and says at last, just as the time bell rings, good night.

Now it's time to go home.

Then he makes it fast, but one more thing

We are the Sultans

We are the Sultans of Swing