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LORD, MR. FORD
(Dick Feller)

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 a few choice words
'Bout that demon, the automobile --
The metal monster with the polyglass wheels --
The end result of a dream of Henry Ford's.

Sure, I've got a car that's mine alone,
That me and the finance company own,
A ready-made pile of manufactured grief.
If I'm not out of gas in the pouring rain,
I'm changin' a flat in a hurricane,
And I once spent three days lost on a cloverleaf.

Well, it's not just the smoke or the traffic jam
That makes me the bitter fool I am,
But that four-wheel buggy's a-dollarin' me to death
For gas and oil and fluids and grease,
And wires and tires and anti-freeze,
And then them accessories, well that's somethin' else.

You can get stereo tape and color TV,
Back seat bar and reclining seats,
On top of those easy monthly payments.
I figure that over a period of time
This four-thousand-dollar car of mine
Cost seventeen thousand dollars and fifty cents.

Well, 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 out of hand.
Lord, Mr. Ford, what have you done?

Now, the average American father and mother
Own one whole car and half of another,
And I bet that half-a-car's a bitch to drive.
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 buy.

Well, it's red light, green light, traffic cop,
Right turn, no turn, must turn, stop.
Get out the credit card. It's time for gas.
All the cars of the world placed end to end
Would reach to the moon and back again,
And there'd probably be some fool pull out to pass.

Well, Lord, Mr. Ford, I just wish that you could see
What your simple horseless carriage has become.
Oh, how I yearn for the good old days, without that carbon-monoxide haze
A-hangin' over that roar on the interstates!
Well, if the Lord that made the moon and stars
Had meant for me and you to have cars,
He'd have seen that we were born with a parking space.

Well, Lord, Mr. Ford, I just wish that you could see
What your simple horseless carriage has become.
This world was once a garden spot
But now it's one big parking lot.
Lord, Mr. Ford, what have you done?
Lord, Mr. Ford, what have you done?
Come away with me, Lucille (sung)
In my smokin', chokin', automobile


As recorded by Dick Feller on "Dick Feller Wrote,"
United Artists UA-LA349-R, 1973.
Also recorded by Jerry Reed and others.

@talkingblues @environment @car
filename[ LORDFORD
PS
Feb07

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