God made the automobile to pass all the pretty girls The smoke by the side of the road, the blues lovin' boys in tow To drive to the end of the day and bow to a borrowed flag To ride all the brave and the blind, and men without men in mind To pass all the things He made and 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 on the blissfully young, the snake with a forked tongue To praise 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 And passes the things He made and then never bothered to name And no one can tell the truth, and no one can hide it from you Like birds around the grave