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 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 o' him
 Not him! Not my boy! Not Bill!
 Bill. I will see that he is named after me, I will.
 My boy, Bill! He'll be tall
 And 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 or toss him around!
 No pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully'll toss 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 theheavyweights
 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 or toss him around!
 No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced, pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bastard'll boss
 Him around
 And I'll be damned if he'll marry the 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 lorgnet
 Say, why am I talkin' on like this?
 My kid ain't even been 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?
 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!
 I can just hear myself bragging about her!
 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 ev'ry night and she come home to me!
 My little girl, my little girl!
 I got to get ready before she comes!
 I 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 be dressed in the best 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!