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You get a shiver in the dark
It's raining on the marks, but meantime
South of the river you stop and you hold, everything
A man is blowing Dixie, double-four time
You feel alright when your hear announcers sing
Well now you step inside and you don't see too many faces
Coming in out of the rain to watch the match go down
Competition in other places
Ah but the bell, it's ringing that sound
*ding ding, ding*
Way on down south
Way on down south, Wrestling town
Check out Jungle Jack
He knows all bout crack
Mind it's strictly real glass
He doesn't wanna make it cry or sing
Yes and a rental car is all he can afford
When he gets up under the lights to work his thing
And Adam doesn't mind if he doesn't, make the scene
He's got a streaming job, he's doing alright
He can plap his woman's bonk like anything
Saving it up for saturday night
With the Sultans
With the Sultans of Shit
Yeah
And a handful of boys
They're fooling around in the front row
Drunk and dressed in their girlfriends' panties
And their cosplay shoes
They don't give a damn
About any hyper workrate band
It ain't what they call a 5-star match
And the Sultans
Yeah the Sultans, no-selling flamethrowers
Not even Canadian destroyers
And then the champion man, he steps right up to the microphone
And says at last, just as the time bell rings
"THIS IS WRESTLING, NOW IT'S TIME FOR PERRY TO GO HOME"
Then he whips his ass with another fit
"We are the Sultans, we are the Sultans of Shit"
