When God Fearin Women Get The Blues
Lock up your husbands
Lock up your sons
Lock up your whiskey cabinets
Girls lock up your guns
Lock up the beauty shop
No telling if theyve heard the news
Call the boys downtown at neiman marcus
Tell em lock up them high-heeled shoes
When God fearin women get the blues
There aint no slap dab atellin what theyre gonna do
Run around yellin I gotta mustang
Itll do eighty
You dont have to be my baby
Ive stirred my last batch of gravy
You dont have to be my baby
Call all the deacons
Call the ladies aid
Call all the altos, sopranos, tenors, call every bass
Well, call all the pentecostals
And bring that anointing oil too
Well call the preacher
Hes the only one can reach her
And there aint no time to lose
When God fearin women get the blues
There aint no slap dab atellin what theyre gonna do
Run around yellin I gotta mustang
Itll do eighty
You dont have to be my baby
Ive stirred my last batch of gravy
You dont have to be my baby
Shes on all our prayer lists
Shes on all our hearts
As for the easter cantata
We dont know wholl sing her part.
When God fearin women get the blues
There aint no slap dab atellin what theyre gonna do
Run around yellin I gotta mustang
Itll do eighty
You dont have to be my baby
Ive stirred my last batch of gravy
You dont have to be my baby
song performed by Martina Mcbride
Added by Lucian Velea
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