Soliloquy lyrics

Artist  : Sinatra Frank 
Song : Soliloquy



 Send "Soliloquy" Ringtone to your Cell 

 												
														   Writers: Rodgers/Hammerstein 

 

 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!