| You get a shiver in the dark
|
| It's raining in the park but meantime
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| South of the river you stop and you hold everything
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| A band is blowing Dixie double four time
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| You feel alright when you hear that music ring
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| Well, now you step inside but you don't see too many faces
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| Coming in out of the rain to hear the jazz go down
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| Competition in other places
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| Oh, but the horns, they're blowing that sound
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| Way on down south, way on down south London town
|
| You check out guitar, George
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| He knows all the chords
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| Mind it's strictly rhythm
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| He doesn't wanna make it cry or sing
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| Left-handed old guitar is all he can afford
|
| When he gets up under the lights to play his thing
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| And Harry doesn't mind if he doesn't make the scene
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| He's got a daytime job, he's doing alright
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| He can play the honky tonk like anything
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| Saving it up for Friday night
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| With the Sultans, with the Sultans of Swing
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| And a crowd of young boys, they're fooling around in the corner
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| Drunk and dressed in their best brown baggies and their platform soles
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| They don't give a damn about any trumpet-playing band
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| It ain't what they call "Rock 'n' Roll"
|
| And the Sultans, yeah, the Sultans, they play Creole, Creole
|
| And then the man, he steps right up to the microphone
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| And says at last just as the time bell rings
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| "Goodnight, now it's time to go home."
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| Then he makes it fast with one more thing,
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| "We are the Sultans, we are the Sultans of Swing." |