Then a crowd of young boys, they're foolin' 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 playin' band
It ain't what they call rock and roll
And the Sultans
Yeah, the Sultans, they play Creole, 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"
Then he makes it fast with one more thing
"We are the Sultans
We are the Sultans of Swing"