Lord Mr. Ford - Jerry Reed

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, I'm not a man appointed judge 
To bear ill-will and hold a grudge 
But I think it's time I said me a few choice words 
All about that demon automobile 
A metal box with the polyglass wheel 
The end result to a dream of Henry Ford 
Well 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 a-changin' a flat in a hurricane 
I once spent three days lost on a cloverleaf 
Well it ain't 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, that's something else 
Well you can get a stereo tape and a color TV 
Get a back-seat 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 

{Chorus}: 
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, 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 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, 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 
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 
He'd have seen that we was all born 
With a parking space 

{Chorus} 

Come away with me Lucille 
In my smoking, choking automobile