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