paroles de chanson
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
(Amen)
Oh
don't
you
hand
me
none
of
your
lines
(Hallelujah)
Clean
up
your
own
backyard
You
tend
to
your
business,
I'll
tend
to
mine
(Clean
it
up
mister,
clean
it
up
mister)
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
(Amen)
Oh
don't
you
hand
me
none
of
your
lines
(Hallelujah)
Clean
up
your
own
backyard
You
tend
to
your
business,
I'll
tend
to
mine
(Clean
it
up
mister,
clean
it
up
mister)
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
(Amen)
Oh
don't
you
hand
me,
don't
you
hand
me
none
of
your
lines
(Hallelujah)
Clean
up
your
own
backyard
You
tend
to
your
business,
I'll
tend
to
mine
(Clean
it
up
mister,
clean
it
up
mister)
Clean
up
your
own
backyard
You
tend
to
your
business,
I'll
tend
to
mine.
Attention! N'hésitez pas à laisser des commentaires.