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 fella's father -
Well, I can!
I bet that he'll turn out to be the spiiting image of his Dad
But he'll have more common sense
Than his pudding headed father ever had!
I'll teach him to wrestle
and mad through a wave
When we go in the mornings 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.
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 wont 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 hale or work on a rail
With a hammer a'hammerin' spikes.
He can ferry a boat on a river
Or peddle a pack on his back,
Or walk up and down the streets of a town
With a whip and a horse and a hack.
He can bourne a scowl along a canal
Run a cow around a corral
Or maybe bark on a carousel.
(Of course, it takes talent to do that well!)
He might be a gem of a heavyweight
or a fella that sells you glue,
Or President of the United States
Yeah, yeah that'd be alright too,
HIs MOther would like that.
But he wouldn; t be President if he didn't want to be -
Not Bill!
My boy 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, blabby-faced,
fat-bellied baggy-eyed bastard
Will boss him around.
And I'm damned 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 kickin' on like this?
My kid ain't even been born yet!
I can see him when he's seventeen or so
And starting into going with a girl.
I can give him lots of pointers, very sound,
On the ways to get round any girl!
I can tell him -
Wait a minute.
What the hell?
What... what if he...
What if he's a girl?
Oh no.
Oh, Bill. Bill.
What'll I do with her?
What'll I do for her?
I'; m a bum with no money.
YTou can have fun with a son
But you gotta be a father to a girl.
It might not be so bad at that.
A kid with ribbons in her hair.
A kind of neat and petite little tin-type of her mother.
What a pair!
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 [pursueher,
Many a likely lad
Does what he can to woo her
From her faithful Dad.
She has a few
Pink and white young fellas
who coo and preen,
But my little girl
Gets hungry every night
And she comes home to me.
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 going to 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!