When God-Fearin' Women Get the Blues
McBride, Martina (1966-)
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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