Martina Mcbride - When God Fearin' Women Get The Blues Lyrics
Lock up your husbandsLock up your sonsLock up your whiskey cabinetsGirls lock up your gunsLock up the beauty shopNo telling if theyve heard the newsCall the boys downtown at neiman marcusTell em lock up them high-heeled shoesWhen God fearin women get the bluesThere aint no slap dab atellin what theyre gonna doRun around yellin I gotta mustangItll do eightyYou dont have to be my babyIve stirred my last batch of gravyYou dont have to be my babyCall all the deaconsCall the ladies aidCall all the altos, sopranos, tenors, call every bassWell, call all the pentecostalsAnd bring that anointing oil tooWell call the preacherHes the only one can reach herAnd there aint no time to loseWhen God fearin women get the bluesThere aint no slap dab atellin what theyre gonna doRun around yellin I gotta mustangItll do eightyYou dont have to be my babyIve stirred my last batch of gravyYou dont have to be my babyShes on all our prayer listsShes on all our heartsAs for the easter cantataWe dont know wholl sing her part.When God fearin women get the bluesThere aint no slap dab atellin what theyre gonna doRun around yellin I gotta mustangItll do eightyYou dont have to be my babyIve stirred my last batch of gravyYou dont have to be my baby
