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...