Father wears his Sunday best
Mother's tired, she needs a rest
The kids are playing up downstairs
Sister's sighing in her sleep (ah)
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
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 (something tells you that you've got to move away from it)
Father gets up late for work
Mother has to iron his shirt
Then she sends the kids to school
Sees them off with a small kiss (ah)
She's the one they're going to miss in lots of ways
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our
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, simply waste the day away
Then we'd say nothing would come between us
Two dreamers
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, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our
Our house, was our castle and our keep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, that was where we used to sleep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street, our house
Writer(s): Carl Smyth, Chris Foreman, Daniel Woodgate, Garaham McPherson, Lee Thompson, Mark Bedford, Michael Barson
Copyright(s): Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
