I won
der 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 spitting image of his dad,
but he'll have more common sense
than his wooden -headed
father ever had.
I'll teach him to wrestle and di
ve through a wave
when we go in the mornings for a swim.
His mother can teach
him the way to behave.
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
We'll build 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 there to try
To boss him or toss him around
No, I'd spell it baggy
I'd bully or 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, a hammer and spikes.
He can ferry a boat on a river,
or pedal 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 the canal,
run a cow around a corral,
or maybe bark for a carousel.
Of course,
it takes tal ent to do that well.
He might be a champ
with the heavy weights,
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.
Well, 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,
Hot -bellied, baggy -eyed bully,
Oh, 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 eye 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 startin' into goin' 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? Oh 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 kinda neat and petite,
little tintype 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 fellas of two an d three.
My little girl gets hungry every night
An d 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 gonna be sheltered and fed and
dressed in the best that money can buy
I never knew how to get money,
but I'll try, my God, I'll try
I'll go out and make it, or steal it,
or take it, or die!