Καλημέρα.
I can't help about 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 well
Now, when I talked to God I knew he'd understand
He said, "Stick by me and 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"
You gotta move
You gotta move
You gotta move, child
You gotta move
Oh, when the Lord gets ready
You gotta move
You may be high
You may be low
You may be rich, child
You may be poor
But when the Lord gets ready
You gotta move
You see that woman
Who walks the street
You see that police
Upon his beat
But then the Lord gets ready
You gotta move