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
