Verse 1
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 tellin' What they're gonna do
Run around yellin'
I've stirred my last batch of gravy You don't have to be
Verse 2
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 ain't no
*Chorus *