You got a shiver in the dark,
it's raining in the park meantime.
Setting off the river,
you stop and you hold everything.
A boundless flowing Dixie,
doubled for time.
It feels alright when cute music rings.
Well now you step inside but you don't see too many faces.
Coming out of the rain,
the heat it does go down.
Competition in other places.
But the hearts,
they blow in that sound.
Way on down south.
Way on down south.
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.
Say I know guitar is all
he gone for.
When he gets up in the light to play his thing.
And Harry doesn't mind if he doesn't
make me sing.
He's got a day job,
he's doing alright.
He can play the honky tonk
like anything.
Save it up for Friday night.
Where the soul times,
where the soul times are sweet.
In a crowd of young boys,
they are fooling around in the corner.
Drunk and dressed in their best brown
peggies and they rather form souls.
You don't give it a damn about any trumpet played upon.
Find what they call rock and roll.
And the soul times,
yeah the soul times play Creole.
Then the man he step right up
to the microphone.
And say at last,
just pass the time, bell rings.
Good night,
now it's time to go home.
And he meets the fest with one more thing.
And the soul times,
where the soul times are sweet.