There is nothing the matter with me.
I´m as healthy as I can be.
I have arthritis in both of my knees
and when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.
My pulse is weak, and my blood is thin.
But I´m awfully well for the shape I´m in.

Arch supports I have for my feet,
Or I wouldn´t be able to be on the street,
Sleep is denied me night after night
But every morning I find I´m all right.
My memory is failing, my head´s in a spin.
But I´m awfully well for the shape I´m in.
Old age is golden, I´ve heard it said
But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed.

With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
My eyes on the table until I wake up.
‘Ere sleep overtake me, I say to myself,
“Is there anything else I could lay on the shelf?
I get up each morning and dust off my wits
And pick up the paper and read the “Obits”,
If my name is still missing I know I´m not dead,
So I have a good breakfast and go back to bed.

The moral is this as my tale I unfold
That for those of us who are growing old,
It´s better to say “I´m fine” with a grin
Than to let folks know the shape we are in.