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 ‘cause 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 ‘cause 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