Tytuł: Clean Up Your Own Backyard

• Wykonawca: Elvis Presley
• Wyświetleń: 217

Back porch preacher preaching at me
  Acting like he wrote the golden rules
  Shaking his fist and speeching at me
  Shouting from his soap box like a fool
  Come Sunday morning he's lying in bed
  With his eye all red, with the wine in his head
  Wishing he was dead when he oughta be
  Heading for Sunday school
  
  Clean up your own backyard
  Oh don't you hand me none of your lines
  Clean up your own backyard
  You tend to your business, I'll tend to mine
  
  Drugstore cowboy criticizing
  Acting like he's better than you and me
  Standing on the sidewalk supervising
  Telling everybody how they ought to be
  Come closing time 'most every night
  He locks up tight and out go the lights
  And he ducks out of sight and he cheats on his wife
  With his employee
  
  Clean up your own backyard
  Oh don't you hand me none of your lines
  Clean up your own backyard
  You tend to your business, I'll tend to mine
  
  Armchair quarterback's always moanin'
  Second guessing people all day long
  Pushing, fooling and hanging on in
  Always messing where they don't belong
  When you get right down to the nitty-gritty
  Isn't it a pity that in this big city
  Not a one a'little bitty man'll admit
  He could have been a little bit wrong
  
  Clean up your own backyard
  Oh don't you hand me, don't you hand me none of your lines
  Clean up your own backyard
  You tend to your business, I'll tend to mine
  
  Clean up your own backyard
  You tend to your business, I'll tend to mine