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 heels 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 pentecostals

Bring that anointing oil too

Well call the preacher

He's the only one can reach her

And there's 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 baby