(Leslie Satcher)

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 baby