My Camr is a car that doesn’t know y
it spits and sputters steam so high.
It sends that needle so far to the right
that I pray to the Lord with all my might.
Just get me to work, I say to Him and her,
but quietly I wonder if that will occur.
This baby’s just not what it used to be,
so it gets very little trust from me.
Now it sits alone in a lot,
thinking to itself, “I’d make a nice flower pot.”
In it I’ll put not one more dime or cent,
and to a junkyard it will likely be lent.
So goodbye, dear Camr car.
We will now carry on from afar.
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