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Sandra’s seen a leprechaun,
Eddie touched a troll,
Laurie danced with witches once,
Charlie found some goblins gold.
Donald heard a mermaid sing,
Susy spied an elf,
But all the magic I have known
I’ve had to make myself.



Goodbye Pluto
So long to your tradition
And your solo life’s ambition
Of just whirling round the sun

Goodbye Pluto
Being number nine was nice till you
Lost your planetary status
Now you’re simply rock and ice

There are eight that spin before you
And they use up all the rays
That the sun gives to her children
To turn the night to day

Goodbye Pluto
I know, it doesn’t seem quite fair
Three thousand million miles away
And God just leaves you there


And I think I understand
When the spin gets out of hand
Sometimes all that’s left is
How to say goodbye

Goodbye Pluto
All this bidding you adieu
Ah, but both of us know better
That your orbiting ain’t thru

Never mind them, Pluto
With one roll around the sun
Two hundred fifty years go by
And when that year is done

By that time Pluto
They’ll be dead and gone to dust
Taking their opinions with them
Their equations turned to rust



Goodbye old me
You were useful while you lasted
Now I’m dropping off that bastard
That kept springtime out of reach

Farewell, you old familiar
As you track your way through space
There comes a time when all of us
Are done and get replaced

So goodbye Pluto
You’ll be salty for a while
But a couple trips around old Sol and
You’ll be back in style



You get a shiver in the dark,
It’s a 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 when you hear the music ring

Well 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
Uh but the horns they blowin’ that sound

Way on downsouth
Way on downsouth
London town

Check out guitar george, he knows-all the chords
Mind he’s strictly rhythm he doesn’t want to make them cry or sing
They said an old guitar is all, he can afford
When he gets up 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
He can play the honky tonk like anything
Savin’ it up, for Friday night

With the Sultans
We’re the Sultans of Swing

Then a crowd a young boys they’re a 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

Then the Sultans
Yeah the Sultans they play creole, creole

(That solo… yup – the solo… Ahhhhhhhh.)

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

Written by Mark Knopfler • Copyright © Universal Music Publishing Group