Dire Straits - sultans of Swing

Sultans of Swing, Dire Straits.
In a pub, where pints and laughter ring,
There played a band, the Sultans of Swing.
With chords so slick, and rhythm so neat,
They brought the crowd up on their feet.
On guitar, Mark Knopfler, cool and keen,
His fingers danced, unseen, serene.
He’d play a riff, then toss a grin,
The Sultans knew they’d always win.
Down at the old-time jazz club door,
They rocked and rolled and begged for more.
No horns or flutes, just pure guitar,
They'd travelled near, they'd travelled far.
Harry played his bass with grace,
While Danny kept a steady pace.
No fancy moves or shiny things,
Just pure magic from the strings.
The crowd would shout, the girls would swoon,
Beneath the disco ball and moon.
For every note and every swing,
They crowned them all, the Sultans of Swing.
But then one night, in mist and fog,
A rival band, The Frogs of Prog,
They challenged Sultans, face to face,
To see who'd win the music race.
With capes and synths, The Frogs did croak,
Their lead singer, a bloke named Bloke.
They played their tunes, so grand and long,
A twenty-minute prog rock song.
But Knopfler smiled, no hint of fear,
He knew the crowd preferred good cheer.
He strummed a chord, the band did play,
And swung those Frogs right out the way.
So here's a toast, with ale and zing,
To Mark and all, the Sultans of Swing.
For in our hearts, they still do play,
That swinging tune, both night and day.
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editing by R D&A
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