We look at others
Seeing their
faults
Seldom seeing our
own
Judging them
In ways that hurt
Crying foul when
that treatment comes home
Criticize the way
They're raising
their kids
What kinda job did
we do with our own
The church they
attend
My God it's so
wrong
Where's their
faith in the things of unknown
They party too
late
Their music ain't
right
They got lousy
friends
her clothes are
too tight
Their sons hair is
too long
He ain't cut his
grass for two weeks
Their daughter
should dress like a lady
they ain't nuthin'
but freaks
What. I'm busy
Woman leave me
alone
I'm watchin' those
idiots
Across the street,
yeah they're home
those folks over
there
God ought to
condemn
All I can tell ya
is
I'm glad I ain't
nuthin' like them
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