Prelude     N.C.   ?She was the prom queen he was a quarter back 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 Hummm we all heard her hollering  for a country mile Cheatin’ sure shows a complete lack of style Well she  took out three parking meters  and a pedestrians purse The day she quit the Baptist choir and threw that Ford into reverse. verse 1 Lock up your Husbands  lock up your Sons Lock up your whiskey cabinets  and girls lock up your guns Lock up the beauty shop there’s no tellin’ if they’ve heard the news             N.C.              N.C.                  N.C.                    Call the boy’s downtown and Neiman Marcus tell ’em lock up them high heeled shoes When God fearin’ women get the blues There ain’t no slap dabb a tellin’ what they’re gonna do      Run around yellin’ I got a Mustang it’ll do 80  you don’t have to be my Baby I stirrd my last batch of crazy  you don’t have to be my . . . . . . . . . .  Bay hay bee. verse 2 Call all the Deacons  call the Ladies aid Call all the altos sopranos tenors call every bass Well call all the Pentecostals and bring that anointing oil too           N.C.                      N.C.                          N.C.           Well call the Preacher he’s the only could reach her and there ain’t no time to lose. When God fearin’ women get the blues There ain’t no slap dabb a tellin’ what they’re gonna do      Run around yellin’ I got a Mustang it’ll do 80  you don’t have to be my Baby I stood my last batch of crazy  you don’t have to be my . . . . . . . . . .  Bay hay bee. Interlude .C.                                                   She’s on all our prayer lists      She’s on all our hearts    N.C.                            N.C.      As for the Easter Cantata      We don’t know who’ll sing her part.                                         ’Let’s go girl’. When God fearin’ women get the blues There ain’t no slap dabb a tellin’ what they’re gonna do      Run around yellin’ I got a Mustang it’ll do 80  you don’t have to be my Baby I stood my last batch of crazy  you don’t have to be my . . . . . . . . . .  Bay hay bee. Outro