Well, if you're one of the millions
Who own one of them
Gas drinking
Piston clinking
Air polluting
Smoke belching
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 pouring rain
I'm changing a flat
In a hurricane
I once spent three days lost
On a cloverleaf
Well, it ain't just the smoke
In a traffic jam
That makes me
The bitter fool I am
But that four-wheeled buggy
Is dollaring me to death
For gas and oil
And fluids and grease
And wires and tires
And antifreeze
And then them accessories
Well, honey, that's something else
Well, you can get stereo tape
And a color TV
Get a backseat bar
And reclining seats
And just pay once a month
Like you do your rent
Well, I figured it up
And over a period of time
This four thousand dollar
Car of mine
Cost fourteen thousand dollars
And ninety-nine cents
Well, now Lord, mister Ford
I just wish that you could see
What your simple horseless carriage has become
Well, it seems your contribution to man
To say the least
Got a little out of hand
Well, Lord, mister Ford
What have you done?
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 an automobile
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 old days
Without that carbon
Dioxide haze
A hanging over the roar
On the interstate
Well, if the Lord
That made the moon and stars
Would've meant for me
And you to have cars
He'd have seen that we was born
With a parking space
Lord, mister Ford
I just wish that you could see
What your simple horseless carriage has become
Well, it seems your contribution to man
To say the least
Got a little out of hand
Well, Lord, mister Ford
What have you done?
Come away with me, Lucille
In my smoking choking automobile