You said you'd never compromise With the mystery tramp, but now you realize He's not selling any alibis As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes And ask him do you want to make a deal? /.../ You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.

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.