I can’t help it ‘bout the shape I’m in,
I can’t sing, I ain’t pretty and my leggs are thin.
But don’t ask me what I think of you,
I might not give the answer that you want me to.

Oh well,

Well I talked to god, I knew he’d understand,
he said son, sit by me and I’ll be your guidin’ hand.
But don’t ask me what I think of you,
I might not give the answer that you want me to.

Oh well...