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
Every 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 wrassle and dive through a wave
When we go in the mornin's for our swim
His mother can teach him the way to behave
But she won't make a sissy out of him
Not him, not my boy, not Bill

My boy Bill, I will see that he's 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'll boss him around

I don't give a darn 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 or hammer and spikes
He can ferry a boat on a river
Or paddle 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 fella that sells you glue
Or President of the United States
That'd be all right too

Yeah, 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 bully'll boss him around

And I'm darned if he'll marry his boss's 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 takin' on like this?
My kid ain't even been born yet
I can see him when he's seventeen or so
And starting in to go with a girl
I can give him lots of pointers very sound
On the way to get around any girl
I can tell him

Wait a minute, could it be?
Well, what the heck, what if he's a girl?
Bill, oh Bill
What would I do with her?
What could I do for her?
Me, a bum with no money

You can't 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 kinda neat and petite little tin type of her mother
What a pair

I can just hear myself braggin' about her now
My little girl
Pink and white 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
He does what he can to woo her
From her faithful dad
She has a few
Pink and white young fellas of two or three
But my little girl gets hungry every night
And she comes home to me

My little girl
My little girl
I gotta get ready before she comes
I gotta make certain that she
Won't be dragged up in slums with a lot of bums like me
She's gotta be sheltered and fed 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