Clean up Your Own Backyard - текст песни
Clean up Your Own Backyard
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
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