Hummm we all heard her hollering, for a country mile,
Cheatin' sure shows a complete lack of style,
Well she, took out three parking meters, and a pedestrians purse,
The day she quit the Baptist choir and threw that Ford into reverse.
verse 1
Lock up your Husbands, lock up your Sons,
Lock up your whiskey cabinets, and girls lock up your guns,
Lock up the beauty shop there's no tellin' if they've heard the news,
Call the boy's downtown and Neiman Marcus tell 'em lock up them high heeled shoes,
When God fearin' women get the blues,
There ain't no slap dabb a tellin' what they're gonna do, Run around yellin',
I got a Mustang it'll do 80, you don't have to be my Baby,
I stirrd my last batch of crazy, you don't have to be my . . . . . . . . . . Bay hay bee.
verse 2
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 could reach her and there ain't no time to lose.
When God fearin' women get the blues,
There ain't no slap dabb a tellin' what they're gonna do, Run around yellin',
I got a Mustang it'll do 80, you don't have to be my Baby,
I stood my last batch of crazy, you don't have to be my . . . . . . . . . . Bay hay bee.
Interlude
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.
'Let's go girl'.
When God fearin' women get the blues,
There ain't no slap dabb a tellin' what they're gonna do, Run around yellin',
I got a Mustang it'll do 80, you don't have to be my Baby,
I stood my last batch of crazy, you don't have to be my . . . . . . . . . . Bay hay bee.
Outro