(B. Strange - S. Davis)
|
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
|
|
-----------------
|
Clean Up Your Own Backyard
|
Elvis Presley |