Round the Houses

Round the Houses
(Difford/Hewerdine)

I once played the Albert Hall
And nervously performed
Now I’m in somebody’s house
On sofas that are worn
A pile of boots out in the hall
And drinks served on a tray
While I play very gingerly
The hits of yesterday

In the bedroom nylon sheets
A few books and a bear
My rider of sweet orange juice
And bits of Camembert
I can hear them milling round
As I tune up to play
I once sang in New York clubs
But that’s not me today

In this house
There is no stage
And in this house
They’re all amazed
To see how far I’ve fallen
In this house

I once played the biggest gigs
My agent could provide
Trucks of lighting and PA
Would hang about outside
Tonight I’m by the angle poise
With no mic and no leads
Tomorrow I’ll be on my way
To number 53

In this house
There is no stage
And in this house
They’re all amazed
To see how far I’ve fallen
In this house

A brown envelope is filled with cash
As I head out of the door
Once there was a limousine
But now there isn’t anymore

But in this house
There is no stage
And in this house
They’re all amazed
Just to see how far I’ve fallen

In this house
In this house