You get a shiver in the dark,
it’s 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 alright, you hear the music ring.
You step inside –
but you don’t see too many faces.
Coming in out of the rain
to hear the jazz fall down.
There’s competition in other places.
But not too many horns can make that sound.
Way on downsouth, way on downsouth in
London town.
You check out Guitar George,
he knows all the chords.
Runnin’ strictly rhythm, he doesn’t want
to make it cry or sing…
But then an old guitar is all he can afford,
When he gets 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 doing alright.
Now 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,
go fooling around in the corner.
Dressed in their best formed baggies,
and their platform soles.
They don’t give a damn
about any trumpet playing band.
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…
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”
Prevod na srpski
Sultani svinga
Zadrhtiš u mraku,
pada kiša u parku, ali u međuvremenu…
Južno od reke, zastaneš
i zaustaviš sve.
Neki bend svira dupli Dixie, četiri puta…
Osećaš se odlično, čuješ odjek muzike.
Uđeš unutra –
ali ne vidiš previše lica
što pristižu sa kiše
da čuju loš džez.
Na drugim mestima ima konkurencije.
Ali retko koja truba tako svira.
Skroz na južnom kraju, skroz na južnom kraju
grada Londona.
Odmeriš gitaristu Džordža,
on sve akorde zna,
Prebira isključivo ritam, ne želi
da rasplače ni raspeva…
Ali eto, stara gitara je jedino što on priuštiti može,
Kad izađe na svetlo,
da svira svoju stvar.
A Hariju ne smeta,
ako ne dospe na scenu.
On ima neki dnevni posao,
dobro mu je.
On u toj kafani svira kao da to nije ništa…
Štedeći za petak veče.
Sa Sultanima… Sultanima svinga.
A neka gomila mladića,
zeza se u ćošku.
Obučeni u svojim najboljim vrećastim pantalonama,
i u cipelama na platformu.
Njih nije briga
ni za kakav trubački bend.
To nije ono što oni zovu Rock n’ Roll.
A Sultani…
da, ti Sultani – oni sviraju kreolski
(kreolski)
A onda taj čovek,
iskorači ravno pred mikrofon…
I kaže “Napokon!”
tek što je zazvonilo zvono za kraj
“Laku noć, sad je vreme da se kući ide”
I on to zbrzi uz još jednu stvar.
“Mi smo sultani”
“Mi smo sultani svinga”