Luyện nghe bài hát Lord Mr. Ford

Well, if one of the millions who own one of them
Gas drinking, clinking, air polluting, smoke belching
Four wheeled buggies Detroit City, then pay attention
I'm about to your song son

Well, I'm not a man appointed
To ill-will and hold a grudge
But I think it's time I me a few choice words
All about that demon
A metal box with the wheel
The end result to the dream of Ford

Well, I've got a car that's alone
That me and the company own
A ready pile of manufactured grief
And if I ain't out of gas in the pouring
I'm a-changing a in a hurricane
I once spent days lost on a cloverleaf

Well, it ain't just the smoke and the jam
makes me the bitter fool I am
But this four buggy is a-dollaring me to death
For gas and and fluids and grease
And wires and tires and
And them accessories, well honey something else

Well, you can get a stereo tape and a TV
Get a bar and reclining seats
And pay once a month, like you do your rent
Well, I figured it up and over a of time
four thousand dollar car of mine
Costs fourteen dollars and ninety-nine cents

Well, now Lord Mr. Ford, I just wish you could see
What your horseless carriage has become
Well, it seems contribution to man
To say the least, got a out of hand
Well, Mr. Ford, what have you done

Now the average American and mother
Own one car and half another
And I bet that half a car is a trick to buy, don't
But the thing that me I guess
Is the way we measure a success
By the kind of an he can afford to buy

now, red light, green light, traffic cop
Right turn, no turn, turn, stop
Get out the card honey, we're out of gas
Well, now all the placed end to end
reach to the moon and back again
And there'd be some fool pull out to pass

Well now, how I yearn for the good old
Without that carbon haze
A-hanging over the of the interstate
Well, if the Lord that the moon and stars
Would have for me and you to have cars
He'd have seen we was all born with a parking space

Lord Mr. Ford, I wish that you could see
What your horseless carriage has become
Well, it seems your to man
To say the least, got a out of hand
Well, Lord Mr. Ford, what have you

Come away me Lucille
In my smoking, choking