Soliloquy (Parts 1 & 2)

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 morning for our swim

His mother can teach him the way to behave

But she won't make a sissy out o' 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 damn what he does

As long as he does what he likes

He can carry a pale or work on a rail

With a hammer, and hammer some 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 even bark for a carousel

Of course, it takes talent to do that well

He might be a champ of the heavyweights

Or a feller who sells you glue

Or President of the United States

Hmm? That'd be alright, too

His mother would like that

Yes, sir

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

He will

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 flat-footed, flabby-faced, bully'll boss him around

And I'm damned if he'll marry his boss' daughter

A skinny-lipped wench 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 startin' in 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 heck!

What if he is a girl?

Well, 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 got to be a father to a girl

She mighn't be so bad at that

A kid with ribbons in her hair

A kind o' neat and petite

Little tin-type of her mother

What a pair

When I have a daughter,

I'll stand around in ballrooms

Oh, how I'll boast and blow

Friends'll see me comin'

And empty all the ballrooms

Through every door they'll go

Weary of hearin', day after day

The same old things that I always say

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 does what he can to woo her

From her faithful dad

She has a few

Pink and white young fellers of two and three

But my little girl

Gets hungry every night and she comes home to me

I got to get ready before she comes

I got to make certain that she

Won't be brought up in slums

With a lot of bums like me

She's got to be sheltered and fed and dressed

With the best that money can buy

I never knew how to get money

But, I'll try, by Gosh! I'll try

I'll go out and make it or steal it

Or take it or die