Lock up your husbands
Lock up your sons
Lock up your whiskey cabinets
Girls lock up your guns
And Lock up the beauty shop
No tellin if theyve heard the news
Call the boys downtown and Neiman Marcus
Tell Em lock them high heeled shoes
When God fearin women get the blues
There aint no slap down a tellin what theyre gonna do
Run around yellin
Ive got a mustang itll do 80
You dont have to be my baby
I stirred my last batch of gravy
You dont have to be my, be my, be my baby
Call all the decons
Call the ladies aid
Call all the altos, sopranos
Tenors call every bass
Well call all the pentacostals
And bring all the annointing oil too
Well call the preacher
Hes the only one who can reach her
And there aint no time to lose
When God fearin women get the blues
There aint no slap down a tellin what theyre gonna do
Run around yellin
Ive got a mustang itll do 80
You dont have to be my baby
I stirred my last batch of gravy
You dont have to be my, be my, be my baby
Shes on all our prayer lists
Shes on all our hearts
As for the easter cantada
We dont know wholl sing her part
When God fearin women get the blues
There aint no slap down or tellin what theyre gonna do
Run around yellin
Ive got a mustang itll do 80
You dont have to be my baby
I stirred my last batch of gravy
You dont have to be my, be my, be my baby