Down our street it’s ever so neat,
You rarely hear the sound of childrens’ feet.
Tidy gardens and pretty flowers,
No factory chimneys or towers.

Commuters who come home in their company cars,
That look at us as though we’re from mars.
We are supposed to be seen and not heard,
Dare we not say a word?

They don’t want us to be normal kids playing skating
and
Football in the road.
Maybe it’s because they are getting old?

Have they forgotten what it’s like to be a child?
Expecting us to be so meek and mild.
Did they ever kick a ball in the street or
Make the sound of childrens’ feet?