Oh Well

I can't help it 'bout the shape I'm in

I can't sing, I ain't pretty, and my legs are thin

But don't ask me what I think of you

I might not give the answer that you want me to, oh

And 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 answer that you want me to, no"

I can't help it 'bout the shape I'm in

I can't sing, I ain't pretty, and my legs are thin

But don't ask me what I think of you

I might not give the answer that you want me to