When God-Fearin' Women Get the Blues lyrics by Martina McBride

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When God-Fearin' Women Get the Blues by Martina McBrideالقصائد الغناءيه -текстове на песни -texty -paroles -στίχοι -गीतletras -songteksten -тексты песен -versuri -tekst utworu -testi -the text of the song - - نص الاغنيةтекста на песента -tekst pjesme -text písně -teksten til sangen -teksti, laulu -le texte de la chanson -το κείμενο του τραγουδιού -पाठ के गीतEl texto de la canción -de tekst van het lied -der Text des Liedes -teksten til sangen -o texto da canção -Текст песни -textul de la piesa -Texten till låten -il testo della canzone

When God-Fearin' Women Get the Blues by 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 tellin' if they've heard the news
Call the boys downtown at Neiman Marcus
Tell 'em lock up them high heel shoes

[Chorus:]
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 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 Pentacostals
Bring that anointing oil too
Well call the preacher
He's the only one can reach her
And their ain't no time to lose

[Chorus: Repeat 2X]

Writer : SATCHER, LESLIE WINN
Copyright : Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC