He don't wear no fancy clothes
He'd rather take the bus
He would pay a tourist fare
So he could sit with us

He don't have no tamborine
Guitar or slide trombone
The music we make here on Earth
The words they are His own

And when we finally reach His home
And walk among the stars
He'll join our band then we'll understand
Why God don't own a car

La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la