RIGHT WON'T TOUCH A HAND
WRITER EARL MONTGOMERY
Copyright 1971
The wind blows Sunday papers by my feet
As I walk down this cold and lonely street
My hands searched through my pockets for a dime
While the memory of you eats away my mind
Looking back I see that I was wrong
But the road I'm on don't lead me back to home
And I can't turn back âcause everything is gone
Yes it's gone
And right won't touch a hand that's filled with wrong
I was filled with so much jealousy
And doubted all the love you had for me
But now I see the kind of fool I've been
I'll never see the one I love again
Looking back I see that I was wrong
But the road I'm on don't lead me back to home
And I can't turn back âcause everything is gone
Yes it's gone
And right won't touch a hand that's filled with wrong
Right won't touch a hand that's filled with wrong

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