Soliloquy

I wonder what he'll think of me
I guess he'll call me the old man
I guess he'll think I can lick
Ev'ry other feller's father
Well, I can

I bet that he'll turn out to be
The spittin' image of his dad
But he'll have more common sense
Than his puddin' headed father ever had

I'll teach him to wrestle and dive through a wave
When we go in the mornins for our swim
His mother can tach him the way to behave
But she won't make a sissy out o'him
Not him, not my boy, not Bill
Bill

My boy Bill
I will see that he is named after me, I will
My boy, Bill, he'll be tall
And as tough as a tree, will Bill
Like a tree he'll grow
With his head held high
And his feet planted firm on the ground
And you won't see nobody dare to try
To boss him or toss him around
No pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully
Will boss him around

I don't give a damn what he does
As long as he does what he likes
He can sit on his tail
Or work on a rail
With a hammer, hammering spikes
He can ferry a boat on a river
Or peddle a pack on his back
Or work up and down
The streets of a town
With a whip and a horse and a hack

He can haul a scow along a canal
Run a cow around a corral
Or maybe bark for a carousel
Of course it takes talent to do that well

He might be a champ of the heavyweights
Or a feller that sells you glue
Or President of the United States
That'd be all right, too
His mother would like that
But he wouldn't be President unless he wanted to be
Not Bill

My boy, Bill, he'll be tall
And as tough as a tree, will Bill
Like a tree he'll grow
With his head held high
And his feet planted firm on the ground
And you won't see nobody dare to try
To boss him or toss him around
No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced
Pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bastard
Will boss him around

And I'm damned if he'll marry his boss' daughter
A skinny-lipped virgin with blood like water
Who'll give him a peck
And call it a kiss
And look in his eyes through a lorgnette

Say, why am I talkin' on like this?
My kid ain't even born, yet
I can see him when he's seventeen or so
And startin' to go with a girl
I can give him lots of pointers, very sound
On the way to get 'round any girl
I can tell him
Wait a minute
Could it be?
What the hell
What if he is a girl?
Bill, oh Bill
What would I do with her?
What could I do for her?
A bum with no money
You can have fun with a son
But you gotta be a father to a girl
She mightn't be so bad at that
A kid with ribbons in her hair
A kind o' sweet and petite
Little tin-type of her mother
What a pair

My little girl
Sweet and light
As peaches and cream is she
My little girl
Is half again as bright
As girls are meant to be
Dozens of boys pursue her
Many a likely lad does what he can to woo her
From her faithful dad
She has a few
Pink and white young fellers of two or three
But my little girl
Gets hungry every night and she comes home to me

I've got to get ready before she comes
I've got to make certain that she
Won't be dragged up in slums
With a lot o' bums like me
She's got to be sheltered
And feed and dressed
In the best that money can buy
I never knew how to get money
But, I'll try, by God, I'll try
I'll go out and make it or steal it
Or take it or die