Intro: EE Back porch preacher preaching at meE Acting like he wrote the golden rulesA Shaking his fist and speeching at meE Shouting from his soap box like a foolB7 Come Sunday morning he's lying in bedA With his eye all red, with the wine in his headA Wishing he was dead when he oughta beE Heading for Sunday schoolA Clean up your own backyardE7 Oh don't you hand me none of your linesB7 Clean up your own backyardA E7 You tend to your business, I'll tend to mineE Drugstore cowboy criticizingE Acting like he's better than you and meA Standing on the sidewalk supervisingE Telling everybody how they ought to beB7 Come closing time 'most every nightA He locks up tight and out go the lightsA And he ducks out of sight and he cheats on his wifeE With his employeeA Clean up your own backyardE7 Oh don't you hand me none of your linesB7 Clean up your own backyardA E7 You tend to your business, I'll tend to mineEE Armchair quarterback's always moanin'E Second guessing people all day longA Pushing, fooling and hanging on inE Always messing where they don't belongB7 When you get right down to the nitty-grittyA Isn't it a pity that in this big cityA Not a one a'little bitty man'll admitE He could have been a little bit wrongA Clean up your own backyardE7 Oh don't you hand me, don't you hand me none of your linesB7 Clean up your own backyardA E7 You tend to your business, I'll tend to mineB7 Clean up your own backyardA E7 You tend to your business, I'll tend to mine
Clean Up Your Own Backyard
Elvis Presley
- A
- B7
- E
- E7
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Tom: