Back porch preacher preachin' at me
Actin' like he wrote the Golden Rules
Shakin' his fist and speechin' at me
Shoutin' from his soap box like a fool
Come Sunday mornin' he's lyin' in bed
With his eyes all red from the wine in his head
Wishing he was dead when he oughta be
Headin' for Sunday school
Clean up your own backyard
Ah don't you hand me none of your lines (Allelujah!)
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 criticisin'
Actin' like he's better than you and me
Standin' on the sidewalk supervisin'
Tellin' everybody how they ought to be
Come closing time 'most ev'ry 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
Ah don't you hand me none of your lines (Allelujah!)
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 guessin' people all day long
Pushin', pullin' and hanging on in
Always messin' 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 one little bitty man'll admit
He could a-been a little bit wrong
Clean up your own backyard
Ah don't you hand me, don't you hand me none of your line (Allelujah!)
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