You get a shiver
in the dark,
It´s s been raining
in the park but
meantime,
South
of the river you stop
and you hold everything,
A band is blowing dixie double four time,
You feel all right when you hear that music ring
You step inside but you don´t see too many faces,
Coming in out of the rain to hear the jazz go down,
Too much competition in other places,
But the horns they're blowing that sound,
Way on downsouth, way on downsouth london town
You check out guitar George, he knows all the chords,
Mind he's strictly rhythm he doesn´t want to make it cry or sing,
And an old guitar is all he can afford,
When he gets up under the lights to play his thing
And Harry doesn´t mind if he doesn´t make the scene,
Hes got a daytime job hes doing alright,
He can play the honky tonk like anything,
Saving it up for friday night,
With the sultans, with the sultans of swing
And a crowd of young boys they´re fooling around in the corner,
Drunk and dressed in their best 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 played creole
And then the man he steps right up to the microphone,
And says at last just as the time bell rings,
Thank you, goodnight now it´s time to go home,
And he makes it fast with one more thing,
We are the sultans, we are the sultans of swing…
A band is blowing dixie double four time,
You feel all right when you hear that music ring
You step inside but you don´t see too many faces,
Coming in out of the rain to hear the jazz go down,
Too much competition in other places,
But the horns they're blowing that sound,
Way on downsouth, way on downsouth london town
You check out guitar George, he knows all the chords,
Mind he's strictly rhythm he doesn´t want to make it cry or sing,
And an old guitar is all he can afford,
When he gets up under the lights to play his thing
And Harry doesn´t mind if he doesn´t make the scene,
Hes got a daytime job hes doing alright,
He can play the honky tonk like anything,
Saving it up for friday night,
With the sultans, with the sultans of swing
And a crowd of young boys they´re fooling around in the corner,
Drunk and dressed in their best 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 played creole
And then the man he steps right up to the microphone,
And says at last just as the time bell rings,
Thank you, goodnight now it´s time to go home,
And he makes it fast with one more thing,
We are the sultans, we are the sultans of swing…
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