Karaoké When God-Fearin' Women Get the Blues Martina McBride

Lock up your husbands lock up your sons

Lock up your whiskey cabinets

Girls, lock up your guns

Lock up the beauty shop no telling if they've heard the news

Call the boys downtown at Neiman Marcus

Tell 'em lock up them high-heeled shoes

When God fearin' women get the blues

There ain't no slap dab atellin' what they're gonna do

Run around yellin'

I gotta Mustang it'll do eighty you don't have to be my baby

I've stirred my last batch of gravy 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 and 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

When God fearin' women get the blues

There ain't no slap dab atellin' what they're gonna do

Run around yellin'

I gotta Mustang it'll do eighty you don't have to be my baby

I've stirred my last batch of gravy you don't have to be my baby

Oh when God fearin' women get the blues

There ain't no slap dab atellin' what they're gonna do

Run around yellin'

I gotta Mustang it'll do eighty you don't have to be my baby

I've stirred my last batch of gravy you don't have to be my baby