She was the prom queen He was the quarterback of the football team And it all looked 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 heels 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 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 Bring that anointing oil too Well call the preacher He's the only one can reach her And there's ain't no time to lose
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 gravy You don't have to be my baby
She's on all our prayer lists She's on all our hearts As for the Easter cantata We don't know who'll sang her part
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 gravy You don't have to be my babyTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
