| I’m a poor boy born in the rubble
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| And some say my manners ain’t the best
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| And some of my friends, yeah, they’ve been in real trouble
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| And some say I’m no better than the rest
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| But tell your mama and your papa
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| Sometimes good guys don’t wear white, yeah
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| Every day baby, I work hard
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| And it’s true at night, I spend a restless time
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| But those rich kids and all that lazy money
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| Can’t hold a candle to mine
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| So tell your mama and your papa
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| Sometimes good guys don’t wear white
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| Good guys bad guys which is which
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| The white collar worker or the digger in the ditch
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| Hey, and who’s to say who’s the better man
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| When I’ve always done the best I can
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| How bad was his dirty mind
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| All those messed up chicks of the changin' times
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| White pills and easy livin'
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| Can’t replace the love I’ve given
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| So tell your mama and your papa
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| Sometimes good guys don’t wear white
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| Ha, I mean to tell ya
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| You better tell your mama and your papa somethin'
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| I’ll split off by myself with another chick yeah, ah just a kick
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| You think those guys in the white collars are better than I am baby
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| Then flake off
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| You don’t dig this long hair, get yourself a crew-cut baby
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| Yeah
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| I mean what I said |