I can't help about the shape I'm in
I can't sing, I ain't pretty, and my legs are thin
Don't ask me what I think of you
I might not give the answers that you want me to
Oh, well
When I talked to God, I knew he'd understand
He said, "Stick by me, I'll be your guiding hand
But don't ask me what I think of you
I might not give the answers that you want me to"
Oh, well