When God-Fearin' Women Get the Blues

She was a prom queen He was a quarterback at the football team And it all looked so promising We never thought anything it'd happen like this And then all of a sudden 25 years of love and devotion Down the drain Mm, we all heard her hollerin' for a country mile Cheatin' shows your complete lack of style Well, she took out three parking meters And a pedestrian's purse The day she quit The Baptist Choir And threw that Ford into reverse Lock up your husbands Lock up your sons Lock up your whiskey cabinets Girls, lock up your guns Lock up the beauty shop No tellin' if they've heard the news Call the boys downtown at Neiman Marcus Tell 'em lock up them high heel shoes When God-fearin' women get the blues There ain't no slap-dab-a-tellin' what they're gonna do Run around yellin' I've got a Mustang, it'll do 80 You don't have to be my baby I've stirred my last batch of gravy You don't have to be my (be my, 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, he's the only one can reach her And there ain't no time to lose When God-fearin' women get the blues There ain't no slap-dab-a-tellin' what they're gonna do Run around yellin' I've got a Mustang, it'll do 80 You don't have to be my baby I've stirred my last batch of gravy You don't have to be my (be my, be my) baby She's on all our prayer lists She's on all our hearts As for the Easter cantata We don't know who'll sing her part When God-fearin' women get the blues There ain't no slap-dab-a-tellin' what they're gonna do Run around yellin' I've got a Mustang, it'll do 80 You don't have to be my baby I've stirred my last batch of gravy You don't have to be my (be my) baby