Our lounge was daubed in chip fat yellow
well before he's next door
we had replicas of the Eiffel tower
and an arctic rug on the living room floor
the walls were alive with lopsided matadors
our out of focus friends from Ibiza would kill for

Making the most of our matching houses
in the middle of nowhere special
making the most of our matching houses
you can see through the curtains and the Oxfam blouses

Truant love on the lino floor
with borstal boy number four
the outline of his Blackpool rock
written all over our Tina's frock
Dad sat on the lav - missing everything
mother burned like Joan of Arc burned on parents evening

Polluting the back of our nostalgic settee
with lies and social security
painting brown carpets with sunshine
moving for the last time