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