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 will 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 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 will 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 sing 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 will 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