Conveyance

Make me, O Lord, Thy Oldsmobile complete.
Thy humble map, a GPS, for me.
Make my body art Thy green color chic
And make the engine thy power to be.
My radio made for metal only
And only for those not ever lonely.

Please maketh my cassette player work well
And make thy divine iPod touch connect
Then enlighten the driver. The car smells.
Thine assumption to be very correct.
Then cloak said odors with a fruit fragrance.
The elegant scent of citrus blatant.

Then drive therewith my understanding will,
Air conditioners on high, windows down
My gas, and oil, both be at their fill
My way to take 285 around.
Then mine saintly driving before ye
That I am created for thine glory.