Well, if youre 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
Im about to sing your song son
Well, Im not a man appointed judge
To bear ill-will and hold a grudge
But I think its time I said me a few choice words
All about that demon automobile
A metal box with the polyglass wheel
The end result to the dream of Henry Ford
Well, Ive got a car thats mine alone
That me and the finance company own
A ready made pile of manufactured grief
And if I aint out of gas in the pouring rain
Im a-changing a flat in a hurricane
I once spent three days lost on a cloverleaf
Well, it aint just the smoke and the traffic jam
That makes me the bitter fool I am
But this four wheel buggy is a-dollaring me to death
For gas and oils and fluids and grease
And wires and tires and anti-freeze
And them accessories, well honey thats something else
Well, you can get a 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
Costs fourteen thousand dollars and ninety-nine cents
Well, now Lord Mr. 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 Mr. Ford, what have you done
Now the average American father and mother
Own one whole car and half another
And I bet that half a car is a trick to buy, dont you?
But the thing that amazes me I guess
Is the way we measure a mans success
By the kind of an automobile he can afford to buy
Well now, red light, green light, traffic cop
Right turn, no turn, must turn, stop
Get out the credit card honey, were out of gas
Well, now all the cars placed end to end
Would reach to the moon and back again
And thered probably be some fool pull out to pass
Well now, how I yearn for the good old days
Without that carbon monoxide haze
A-hanging over the roar of the interstate
Well, if the Lord that made the moon and stars
Would have meant for me and you to have cars
Hed have seen that we was all born with a parking space
Lord Mr. 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 Mr. Ford, what have you done
Come away with me Lucille
In my smoking, choking automobile