Song | Clean Up Your Own Backyard |
Artist | Elvis Presley |
Album | too much monkey business |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
Lyrics:B.Strange/S.Davis Music: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 |
Lyrics: B. Strange S. Davis Music: 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 nittygritty | |
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 |
Lyrics: B. Strange S. Davis Music: 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 nittygritty | |
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 |