[Prelude]
N.C.
“She was the prom queen, he was a quarterback of the football team
N.C.
and it all looked so promising, we never thought anything 'ud happen like this
N.C.
and then, all of a sudden, twenty five years of love and devotion, down the drain.”
[Intro]
D A
Hummm we all heard her hollering, for a country mile,
D G
Cheatin' sure shows a complete lack of style,
D A
Well she, took out three parking meters, and a pedestrian's purse,
C G D
The day she quit the Baptist choir and threw that Ford into reverse.
[Verse 1]
D
Lock up your husbands, lock up your sons,
D
Lock up your whiskey cabinets, and girls lock up your guns,
D
Lock up the beauty shop, there's no tellin' if they've heard the news,
D N.C. D N.C. D N.C. D
Call the boys downtown and Neiman Marcus, tell 'em lock up them high heeled shoes,
[Chorus]
Bm G D
When God fearin' women get the blues,
G A
There ain't no slap dabb a tellin' what they're gonna do, Run around yellin',
D G A D
I got a Mustang, it'll do 80, you don't have to be my baby,
D G A D
I’ve stirred my last batch of gravy, you don't have to be my . . . . . . . . . . Bay hay bee.
[Verse 2]
D
Call all the Deacons, call the Ladies aid,
D
Call all the altos, sopranos, tenors, call every bass,
D
Well, call all the Pentecostals, and bring that anointing oil too,
D N.C. D N.C. D N.C. D
Well, call the Preacher, he's the only could reach her and there ain't no time to lose.
[Chorus]
Bm G D
When God fearin' women get the blues,
G A
There ain't no slap dabb a tellin' what they're gonna do, Run around yellin',
D G A D
I got a Mustang, it'll do 80, you don't have to be my baby,
D G A D
I’ve stirred my last batch of gravy, you don't have to be my . . . . . . . . . . Bay hay bee.
[Interlude]
D G A A D G A A
[Bridge]
Bm N.C. Bm N.C.
She's on all our prayer lists, She's on all our hearts,
G N.C. A N.C.
As for the Easter Cantata, We don't know who'll sing her part.
D D D D
'Let's go girl'.
[Chorus]
Bm G D
When God fearin' women get the blues,
G A
There ain't no slap dabb a tellin' what they're gonna do, Run around yellin',
D G A D
I got a Mustang, it'll do 80, you don't have to be my baby,
D G A D
I’ve stirred my last batch of gravy, you don't have to be my . . . . . . . . . . Bay hay bee.
[Outro]
D