Father wears his Sunday best
Mother’s tired, she needs a rest, the kids are playing up downstairs
Sister’s sighing in her sleep
Brother’s got a date to keep, he can’t hang around
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, it has a crowd
There’s always something happening, and it’s usually quite loud
Our mum, she’s so house-proud
Nothing ever slows her down, and a mess is not allowed
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
I remember way back then, when everything was true and when
We would have such a very good time, such a fine time, such a happy time
And I remember how we’d play and simply waste the day away
Then we’d say nothing would come between us, two dreamers
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our
…
Father wears his Sunday best…
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