Well, if you're one of the millions who own one of them gas-drinking, piston-clanking, air-polluting, smoke-belching, four-wheeled buggies from Detroit City, then pay attention. I'm about to sing your song son. nnnWell now, I'm not a man appointed judgenTo bear ill-will and hold a grudgenBut I think it's time I said me a few choice words nAll about that demon automobile nA metal box with the polyglass wheel nThe end result to a dream of Henry Ford nWell now, I've got a car that's mine alone nThat me and the finance company own nA ready-made pile of manufactured grief nAnd if I ain't out of gas in the pouring rain nI'm a-changin' a flat in a hurricane nI once spent three days lost on a cloverleaf nWell it ain't just the smoke and the traffic jam nThat makes me the bitter fool I am nBut this four-wheel buggy is nA-dollaring me to death nFor gas and oils and fluids and grease nAnd wires and tires and anti freeze nAnd them accessories nWell honey, that's something else nWell you can get a stereo tape and a color TV nGet a back-seat bar and reclining seats nAnd just pay once a month, like you do your rent nWell I figured it up and over a period of time nThis four thousand dollar car of mine nCosts fourteen thousand dollars nAnd ninety-nine cents, well nownnWell now, Lord Mr. Ford, I just wish that you could see nWhat your simple horseless carriage has become nWell it seems your contribution to man nTo say the least, got a little out of hand nWell, Lord Mr. Ford what have you done nnNow the average American father and mother nOwn one whole car and a half another nAnd I bet that half a car is a nTrick to buy, don't you nBut the thing that amazes me, I guess nIs the way we measure a man's success nBy the kind of automobile he can afford to buy nWell now, red light, green light, traffic cop nRight turn, no turn, must turn, stop nGet out the credit card honey, we're out of gas nWell now, all the cars placed end to end nWould reach to the moon and back again nAnd there'd probably be some nFool pull out to pass nWell now, how I yearn for the good old days nWithout that carbon dioxide haze nA-hanging over the roar of the interstate nWell if the Lord that made the moon and stars nWould have meant for me and you to have cars nHe'd have seen that we was all born nWith a parking space nnLord Mr. Ford, I just wish that you could see nWhat your simple horseless carriage has become nWell it seems your contribution to man nTo say the least, got a little out of hand nWell, Lord Mr. Ford what have you donennCome away with me LucillenIn my smoking, choking automobile...