God made the automobile to pass all the pretty girls That smoke by the side of the road, their blues loving boys in tow To drive until the end of the day and bow to a borrowed flag Beside all the brave and the blind, and men without men in mind
To pass all the things he made But then never bothered to name And no one will tell the truth And no one will hide it from you
Like birds around the grave
God made the automobile and I made a little boy To pass all the blissfully young, the snake with a forked tongue That preys on the wanting for time and makes in the sleepless waves The fear of the black and the Jew and blood for the camera crew
To pass all the things he made But then never bothered to name And no one will tell the truth And no one will hide it from you