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 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 baby
 Call all the deacons
 Call the Ladies Aid
 Call all the altos, sopranos, tenors
 Call every bass
 Well call all the Pentacostals
 Bring that anointing oil too
 Well call the preacher
 He's the only one can reach her
 And their ain't no time to lose
 Repeat Chorus
 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
 Repeat Chorus