Lyrics When God-Fearin' Women Get The Blues - Martina McBride

When God-Fearin' Women Get The Blues

She was the prom queen
He was the quarterback
Of the football team
And it all look so promising
We never thought anything
Would happen like this
And then all of a sudden
Twenty-five years
Of love and devotion
Down the drain
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 gray
You don’t have to 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
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
Repeat Chorus
She’s on all our prayer list
She’s on all our hearts
As for the Easter cantata
We don’t know who’ll sing her part
Repeat Chorus