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"Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size, but when I start to tell them, they think I'm telling lies. I say, "It's in the reach of my arms, the span of my hips, the stride of my steps, the curl of my lips. I'm a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me." I walk into a room just as cool as I please and to a man. The fellows stand or fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, a hive of honey bees. I say, "It's the fire in my eyes and the flash of my teeth, the swing of my waist and the joy in my feet. I'm a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me." Men themselves have wondered what they see in me. They try so much, but they can't touch my inner mystery. When I try to show them, they say they still can't see. I say, "It's in the arch of my back, the sun of my smile, the ride of my breasts, the grace of my style. I'm a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me." Now you understand just why my head's not bowed. I don't shout or jump about or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing, it ought to make you proud. I say, "It's in the click of my heels, the bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, the need for my care. 'Cause I'm a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me."