Lord Mr. Ford

Well if you're one of the millions who own one of them
Gas drinkin' piston clinkin' air pollutin' smoke belchin'
Four wheeled buggies from Detroit City then pay attention
I'm about to sing your song son

Well now I'm not a man to point or judge to bear ill-will or hold a grudge
But I think it's time I said me a few choice words
All about that demon the automobile the metal monster with the polyglass wheels
The end result of a dream of Henry Ford
Well now I've got a car that's mine alone that me and the finance company own
A ready made pile of manufactured grief
And if I ain't out of gas in the pourin' rain I'm changin' a flat in a hurricane
I once spent three days lost on a cloverleaf

Well it ain't just the smoke or the traffic jam that makes me the bitter fool I am
But that four-wheeled buggy is dollarin' me to death
For gas and oil and fluids and grease and wires and tires and antifreeze
And then them excessories well honey that' s somethin' else
Well you get stereo tape and a color TV get a backseat bar and reclinin' seats
And just pay once a month like you do your rent
Well I figure it up in over a period of time this four thousand dollar car of mine
Cost fourteen thousand dollars and ninety-nine cents

Well now Lord Mr Ford I just wish that you could see
What your simple horse-less carriage has become
Well it seems your contribution to man to say the least got a little out of hand
Well Lord Mr Ford what have you done

[ guitar ]
Now the average American father and mother own one whole car and half another
And I'll bet that half a car is a trick to drive don't you
But the thing that amazes me I guess is the way we measure a man's success
By the kind of automobile that he can afford to buy
Well now it's red light green light traffic cop right turn no turn must turn stop
Get out the credit card honey we're out of gas
Well now all the cars placed end to end would reach to the moon and back again
And there'd probably be some poor fool pull out to pass
Well now how I yearn for the good ol' days without that carbon dioxide haze
A hangin' over the roar on the interstate
Well if the Lord who made the moon and stars would've meant for me and you to have cars
He'd've seen that we was born with a parkin' space

Well Lord Mr Ford I just wish that you could see
What your simple horse-less carriage has become
Well it seems your contribution to man to say the least got a little out of hand
Well Lord Mr Ford what have you done
Come away with me Lucille in my smokin' chokin' automobile