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