Oh Well — Fleetwood Mac

I cant help it bout the shape Im in, I cant sing, I aint pretty and my leggs are thin. But dont 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 hed understand, he said son, sit by me and Ill be your guidin hand. But dont ask me what I think of you, I might not give the answer that you want me to.

Oh well...