Soliloquy Songtext

von Gordon Macrae

I wonder what he'll think of me
I guess he'll 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 spitting 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 morning 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 won't 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 hang what he does
As long as he does what he likes
He can sit on his tail or work on a a rail with a hammer
A hammer and spikes
He can ferry a boat on a river
Or peddle a pack on his back
Or work up and down the streets of 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 alright 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 him or toss him around
No fat-bottomed, flabby-faced, pot-bellied, baggy-eyed bully will boss him around
And I'm hanged if he marries his boss's daughter
A skinny-lipped lady 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 taking 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 'round any girl
I can tell him... wait a minute...
Could it be?
What the-?
What if he is a... girl?
Aw, Bill
Bill
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 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 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 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 get 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, I'll try, I'll try
I go out and make it
Or steal it
Or take it
Or die!