My body is a body I wouldn't want for anybody
Not for a friend or an enemy or a "hottie"
I wouldn't wish or push it on anybody else
It's hard to be happy when you hate looking at yourself
Everyday I'm the person that sees me the most
Mothers and lovers and others think I'm gross
I don't blame them, can't say I wouldn't think the same
If I saw me passing by on the street I'd go insane
At the end of the day, all I have is hate
Hate the rolls, the baggage, and all the extra weight
Vomit doesn't help the problem, doesn't solve it
But it feels better to get the food off my stomach for a bit.
Don't know where to go, what to do from here
Usually I'll drown my sorrow in a couple beers
If food were cigarettes, by now I'd have cancer
Depression is the question and food is my answer
