Soliloquy

Lyrics

[BILLY] 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 wrestle and dive 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! 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, hammering spikes He can ferry a boat on a river Or peddle a pack on his back Or work up and down The street 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 [BILLY, spoken] His mother would like that But he wouldn't be President 'less he wanted to be [BILLY] 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 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 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— [BILLY, spoken] Wait a minute! Could it be? What the hell! What if, what if he is a girl? A girl? What would I do with her? What could I do for her? A bum with no money! [BILLY] 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 of sweet and petite Little tintype of her mother What a pair! When I have a daughter I'll stand around in barrooms Oh, how I'll boast and blow Friends'll see me comin' And empty all the barrooms 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 or three 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 gotta be sheltered And fed and dressed In the best that money can buy I never know 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!