There's nothing whatever the matter with me.
I'm just as healthy as I can be.
I have arthritis in both my knees,
and when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.

My pulse is weak and my blood is thin.
But I'm alwfully well, for the shape I'm in.
I think my liver is out of whack,
and a terrible pain is in my back.

My hearing is poor, and my sight is dim.
Most everything seems to be out of trim.
But, I'm awfully well, for the shape I'm in.

I have arch supports for both my feet.
Or I wouldn't be able to go on the street.
Sleeplessness, I have evey night,
And in the morning, I'm just a sight.

My memory is failing, my head is in a spin,
And I'm peacefully living on aspirin.
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.

The moral is, as this tale we unfold,
That for you and me who are growing old,
It's better to say, "I'm fine" with a grin,
Than to let them know the shape we're in.