Biking In A Short Gown And Shiny Nylon Stockings
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it could only topped by getting caught with public sex
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Now you step inside but you don't see too many faces
Coming in out of the rain, they hear the jazz go down
Competition in other places
But the horns, they're blowing that sound
Way on down south
Way on down south London town
Check out Guitar George, he knows all the chords
And he's strictly rhythm, he doesn't wanna make them cry or sing
♪ He's in an old guitar resort ♪
♪ He can't afford ♪
♪ When he gets up under the lights ♪
♪ To play his thing ♪
If he doesn't make the scene
He's got a daytime job, he's doing alright
He can play the home-tom like anything
Saving it up Friday night
With the Sultans
Where the Sultans all sway
And the crowdy **********, they're fooling around in the corner
***** and dressed in their best brown baggies and their platform soles
They don't give a damn 'bout any trumpet playing band
It ain't what they call rock and roll
And the sultans, yeah the sultans they play Creole
♪ And the man he steps right up to the microphone ♪
And say they'll last just as the time fell rain
Now it's time to go home
And he makes it fast with one more thing
We are the saltans
We are the saltans of Swaziland
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