And now you step inside but you don't see too many
faces
Comin' in out of the rain to hear the jazz go down
Competition in other places
Oh 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
but he's strictly rhythm he doesn't wanna make it
cry or sing
Yes 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
He's got a daytime job, he's doin' alright
He can play the honky tonk like anything
Savin' 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... yeah the Sultans play Creole
And then the man he steps right up to the microphone
And says at last just as the time bell rings
'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'